


Sun on Stone

by MyBlueSkye



Series: Warriors of Jorrvaskr [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Deviates From Canon, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Sex, F/M, Light BDSM, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-09-12 19:45:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9087550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyBlueSkye/pseuds/MyBlueSkye
Summary: Gillian defeated Alduin and assisted the Empire in defeating the Stormcloaks. She still calls Jorrvaskr home, but when the Companions receive a mysterious contract from the Temples of Mara and Dibella, Vilkas sends her and Aela undercover to Markarth. There, she meets Argis the Bulwark and is...understandably distracted.





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and constructive criticism greatly appreciated! And if you leave me a comment and you’re an author, I’ll find your work and do the same for you.

Shoppers and merchants in the marketplace watched as the newcomer climbed the high steps to Vlindrel Hall, her fiery hair the only flash of color against gray stone blending seamlessly into gray, scattered clouds above. They looked at each other with cautious curiosity – was this the Dragonborn they’d heard so much about, the one who went to Sovngarde? Was she truly making her home here? In this glorified ruin of a city?

She’d been friendly, yet reserved, and hadn’t bought much. Then again, she’d lodged at the Silver-Blood Inn over the last week, and didn’t need meat or ale from a stall. But Tacitus, the loud-mouthed blacksmith’s apprentice, gossiped freely about the ebony bow he’d restrung for her as well as the ancient-looking katana she wore strapped at her side. He said it sparked and glowed when she touched it.

The Dragonborn helped people. Ordinary people. And if rumor were right, and the Jarl made her a Thane, well...help was needed here, they thought, barely holding to hope.

Adara, the jeweler’s little girl, stumbled out of the way as a couple of armed guards pushed through the square. The package she carried went flying, and a flash of silver glinted on the stone street before it disappeared beneath a guard’s boot.

The girl cried out as the bracelet she’d finished with her father cracked, moonstones popping from their mountings and falling through cracks between the cobblestones. Under the guards’ flinty stares, Adara ran to her mother’s stall and hid below the counter. No one helped her. No one said a word. Eyes downcast, the citizens returned to their work, their children, their tasks.

This Dragonborn business would probably come to nothing, anyway. After all, blood and silver were the only currencies in Markarth. Common folk had no silver, and they’d already given enough blood. The rich and powerful could take care of themselves; better for everyone else to keep their mouths shut and hands busy...their families safe.

 

* * *

  
Watching the commotion below out of the corner of her eye, the red-haired Breton fumed, feeling helpless despite all her power. _Play along, play your part. A thane wouldn't interfere. Wouldn't dirty her hands._

My new home, she cringed, her shiver having little to do with the setting sun. The misery concealed beneath Markarth’s grand stone façade created its own, permanent chill.

From the moment she’d passed through those brazen gates years ago, even before Alduin had reared his terrifying head, the imposing city had a permanent last place spot on her list of places to live. By Ysmir’s beard, she’d seen a man murdered before her eyes that day, and the guards barely batted an eye. It seemed little had changed.

Yet here she was, a Thane of the Reach, buying her first home in this…monument to avarice and pain. She paused on the top step, allowing one final moment of self-pity. She missed Whiterun: her home and friends at Jorrvaskr, nights at the Bannered Mare. And days under the sun, trees, and snowy mountains. Markarth was cruel enough to make her nostalgic for her days at Windhelm after the Civil War, and that was saying a lot. She hated Windhelm.

But in the end, she remembered: it wasn't about her. And the Companions were in it for the long haul. Corruption was a more difficult beast to slay than a dragon, these days. At least the dragons stayed dead.

Taking a deep breath, she turned her key in the ornate lock and pushed open the brazen doors, revealing a surprisingly warm entryway lit by stone firepits. She smelled herbs and snowberries and…fresh-baked bread?

Jarl Igmund had mentioned something about a housecarl, but she’d been too distracted and anxious to pay much attention at the time. And…for what she had to do here, it might be better to have no housecarl at all. It was going to get more difficult by the day to hide her distaste for Markarth. Then again, no one here seemed overly cheerful to begin with. Maybe she’d fit right in.

The living area was comfortable, less Dwemer-ruin than she’d expected, with colorful tapestries, comfortable seats and plenty of wooden bookshelves, none of the stone and metal that sucked all the warmth out. Exploring further, she opened double brazen doors into her bedchamber, again, comfortably furnished and clean. She dropped the one small bag she’d carried with her on the bed; the rest of her belongings would be arriving by wagon tomorrow.

Moving through the house, she noticed the kitchen, and yes, there was a loaf of warm bread cooling on a countertop. She cut off a piece and nibbled it appreciatively, walking around to another, smaller bedroom. Standing in the open doorway, she could see nothing offering insight into what her housecarl was like, other than swords and a Dwarven bow mounted on the walls. The wardrobe was shut, and everything clean and sparse, rather like space in a military barracks.

As she turned to go back to her room, she heard the entry door close, and footsteps slow to a stop on the stone floor. Calling up a flame spell as a precaution, she walked toward the entryway and, in the glow of twin firepits, saw the silhouette of a tall, long-haired man. He carried a linen shopping bag.

"Hello," she said, reluctantly walking toward him. "I'm Gillian. Since you have the key," she nodded to the shining object he held in his right hand, "I'm going to assume you're my housecarl and not a bandit or something?" She frowned as her dumb joke fell flat, and wished she had a normal nervous habit like biting her nails.

He stared at her flaming hands, and she dismissed her magic with a sigh as they walked toward the firelit living room. She turned to face him. He appeared to be in his late thirties, and he wasn’t just tall, but powerfully built, his ceremonial armor exposing muscular biceps and forearms.

He had golden-brown eyes and Nord-blond hair, pulled back from his face and braided on the sides, leaving the rest to cascade down his back. His dark blond, trimmed beard partially covered a tattoo resembling an intricately-carved arrowhead, the point of which ended below his right eye.

She wondered how someone like him became a housecarl, and she took another look at his face, and realized only one of his eyes was brown – the left was pure white, and in the path of a pale scar, jagged and cruel, running from his forehead to his jaw.

“If you’re finished, my Thane?” the tower of a man rumbled, making Gillian blush, caught red-handed in her lengthy examination of her new bodyguard. “I am your housecarl. My name is Argis. I am your sword and your shield,” he said with a slight bow.

“Argis,” she tried the name on and thought it fitted him. “I’m sorry for my rudeness. You…weren’t what I expected.”

“Wanted someone unimpaired guarding your house, hm?” he said, motioning to his eye. “I can assure you I’m capable of guarding one Breton woman, even if she is the Dragonborn.”

Gillian rocked back in shock, shaking her head. “Th- that’s not what I meant,” she stuttered, angry at herself for starting on the wrong foot. “My housecarl in Whiterun is a young woman. Capable, yes, but not…” she motioned toward Argis, unable to verbalize, as usual. Why Vilkas thought she was right for this mission was beyond her. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. “Please, let me start over. I’m Gillian,” she walked over to shake Argis’s hand, “and I may be Dragonborn, but that’s all over now, so you might find your life a wee bit boring from here on out.”

Argis’s lips tightened as he shook her hand, and she groaned. _Shit. Can I never stop saying the wrong things?_ “Ok,” she said, giving up. “It’s been a long day. I’m going to bed. Hopefully we can talk again in the morning. I hope you…sleep well,” she said with an awkward wave. Rolling her eyes, she walked as quickly as she could to her room, pausing at the threshold to look at him out of the corner of her eye. He was still standing in the same position, holding his string bag and key.

“Good night, my Thane,” he said, as she shut the doors.

 

* * *

  
  
  
Argis tried not to give in to anger and frustration as Gillian disappeared into her room. Maybe she was tired. Maybe she’d had a run-in with one of the guards; they were always wary to the point of rudeness with outsiders. Maybe that explained why she so obviously wished him elsewhere.

Well, she wasn’t the only one. He placed his key on the shelf next to the kitchen, and walked into the warm room to place his purchases on the shelves within. He noticed that a slice was missing from the bread he’d baked earlier that day, and smiled in spite of himself as he wrapped the remainder of the loaf. _At least I did something right today._

Inwardly cursing himself for not being here when she arrived, he sliced onions, carrots, and chicken and put them, with some water, rosemary, and laurel, in a pot hanging over embers. Taking one last look around the kitchen, he picked up a lit candle and walked out.

He’d been in Markarth too long, he thought, walking toward his bedroom. After his injury, the Legion had sent him home, and he’d eagerly gone, hoping finally to marry his girl and settle down to an occupation more…friendly to his remaining eye.

He’d been a fierce soldier. A scout, he’d been the first in and the last out of every mission, so it was a miracle his eye was the only permanent injury he'd suffered after so many years, although his body was scarred enough. He’d earned the nickname ‘Bulwark,’ and most in Markarth used it as an honorific, his reputation in Skyrim as a veritable one-man fortress alive and well. Some who thought less of him because of what happened with Anya used it mockingly, though never to his face.

Nothing had worked out as he’d planned. Drifting and aimless, he’d signed on as a palace guard and for years, just worked, trained, and slept, day after day. He thought himself lucky to have escaped the Warrens, lucky his response to heartbreak and shattered dreams was work, rather than the bottle, or skooma. And extremely lucky that he was still strong and hale; many returning from the wars weren’t.

Then, two weeks ago, the Jarl had informed him of his new position as housecarl to the Reach’s latest Thane. But not just any Thane: the Dragonborn had chosen Markarth as her new home, and the Jarl wanted her protected – _and_ _watched_ , the unspoken directive hovered in Argis’s mind.

He had to admit it was suspicious. She was one of the legendary Companions, a hero of the Civil War, and the only celebrated mage in the province. Why would she pick up and move to Markarth?

Well, Argis would do his job and leave the intrigue to the Jarl and his new Thane. His pretty new Thane, he couldn’t help thinking to himself, and shook the thought away. It had been six years since Anya, and he hadn’t let himself get close to any woman since. He wasn’t going to start now, he thought, as he cased his armor and slipped on a linen nightshirt. Hopefully they could start again the next morning.

 

* * *

  
  
  
Gillian slid down the brazen doors and rested her head on her knees, finally allowing mortification to color her cheeks. She bit her lip and cursed herself. Over the years, she’d become used to Vilkas and Farkas making fun of her awkwardness, and because she was dragonborn, she had to be around strangers much more often than she cared to be.

But this was it, she told herself. Her last mission, and then she really would settle down. In Whiterun, though, never in Markarth. Maybe even in the country somewhere. That sounded even better.

Images of quiet spring breezes, buzzing bees, and waving grasses calmed her spinning head, and she turned her thoughts to her new housecarl. She would apologize in the morning, and explain that his injury wasn’t a problem.

His maleness, on the other hand…although she could never explain that, and wasn’t sure she understood it herself. She’d lived in Jorrvaskr for the past nine years, surrounded by men, and handsome men at that. It took months for her to get used to fighting next to the twins, but she had. So why did she feel uncomfortable around Argis?

Maybe…yes, that was it. There wasn’t anyone else in the house, and the arrangement was so…private. That had to be it. Not to mention she was bound to keep secrets from this man, and that set her on edge.

Feeling better and surer of herself, she rose and began to unpack her bag. She hung her forest-green tunic and leather leggings in her wardrobe, and slid into bed wearing her undershirt. They would start again in the morning, she thought. It would be fine.

 

 


	2. Scratch That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argis and Gillian go hiking and clear the air a bit, each finding the other to be something unexpected.

Argis woke up early and made breakfast for himself and Gillian. It wasn’t a housecarl’s duty to cook for his Thane, and he had no intention of making it part of the routine, but he thought it was a nice thing to do for her first morning in her new home. And maybe it would break the ice a little, ice he'd had a part in creating last night. He placed the plates of apples and warm bread covered with cheese on the table, and knocked on her door. He heard movement inside, and the door opened an inch or two.

“Breakfast is ready, if you like, my Thane,” Argis smiled at her widened eyes and quelled the protest he was sure was to come. “No, I know it’s not my duty, but it _is_ my pleasure to welcome my Thane to Markarth. Please, would you have breakfast with me?” Part of him hoped she would say no so he could write her off as a snotty Breton caught up in her fame as Dragonborn, but he found himself saying again, “please?”

Gillian blushed and looked down at her skimpy camisole. “Give me three minutes,” she said, and shut the door, her heart pounding. She’d been reading in bed, and his knock had interrupted a scene where the heroes were sneaking through a cave, pursued by vampires. Given their catastrophic meeting last night, this wasn't how she expected her day to begin, but if she wanted her time in Markarth to be bearable, befriending her housecarl was the way to start. 

Five minutes later, Gillian walked to the table, dressed in a casual chocolate-brown tunic, leather leggings, and worn leather boots, her coppery hair braided down her back. She hoped the wagon with the rest of her things came on time today; this was her last clean outfit. “This looks great, thanks Argis,” she said, and then moaned a little as she saw the carafe in the middle of the table. “Is that…coffee?” she asked, the last word almost a prayer as she sat and looked at her housecarl with large, black eyes.

He laughed and poured a cup for her. “Cream?”

“Oh, please,” she said, taking the finished cup and sipping it slowly, eyes closed. She bit into the bread and melted cheese and moaned again.

Argis raised his eyebrows and sipped from his own cup. When was the last time she’d had decent food, he wondered. She bit into an apple next and didn’t moan, so maybe it was just hot things? Well, it _was_ cold in Markarth, so that might be a reasonable reaction. “So, do you have anything planned for the day?” he asked.

“Hmmm…I was just thinking about that,” she said, and sighed. “You know, what I really need to do is get out of here for a while. Outside the city. Nothing big, I just need to see something other than,” she motioned upward with her hand, “stone walls. I’ve been inside for the past week doing…Thane things, and it’s wearing me down. I don’t know what the protocol is…do you…”

“Come with you?” Argis sat up straighter. “Yes, I do. At least for now. The Jarl would have my head if I didn’t accompany you while you got your bearings.” He was almost glad to leave the city for a bit, even just for a day trip. He thought for a moment. “Any interest in fishing? I could catch our dinner, and we could hike into the mountains a little. Lots of trees, lots of…life.”

“Sounds perfect,” she said, finishing her coffee and toast. “Let me clean up the breakfast things and pack a snack, and you can get the fishing stuff together and then we’ll go. Maybe thirty minutes or so?”

He nodded with relief, her attitude toward cleaning up the breakfast things boding well for their relationship. Nords understood the role of the housecarl well, but too many Bretons, Elves, and even Redguards mistook him for a servant, and although such work wasn’t below him, it wasn’t technically his job. He hoped for an equal partnership in domestic matters.

Gillian suddenly felt free, like escaping from the city walls meant a respite from her mission. “Meet you back here in thirty, then.” She turned to go back to her room and then had a thought. “There are no windows…do you know…”

“It’s sunny and not too cold,” he said, smiling sympathetically. “You get used to it, you know.”

 

* * *

 

“So,” Gillian said as they hiked into the foothills, “I'm not sure what to expect from a housecarl...in an actual house.” She was terrible at bringing up touchy subjects, and tended to be a little blunt. “Lydia…well, Lydia's a woman, so the whole dynamic is different. We’re friends, confidants. Plus, I never bought a house, so she basically joined the Companions for me, and we all lived in Jorrvaskr. This is a new experience, and I don’t mind admitting when I’m at a loss.”

Argis was quiet for a moment, trying to strike the right balance between familiarity and professionalism. It was a touchy question to answer. “The Jarl’s housecarl is his adviser as well as his protector. I’ve seen him try to make a decision without her input, and it’s…not pretty,” he said, laughing and noticing as Gillian’s eyebrows lifted. “What I do for you is protect you. And your home, and your secrets. And, if you marry or have children, they're my responsibility as well.” He paused for a moment to cut a bunch of mushrooms from a tree trunk and stow them in his satchel. “As for what our relationship is supposed to be, friendship between a man and a woman is a…delicate thing. It's rare to find a man and a woman who both want friendship, equally,” he looked back and smiled at her faint blush, and went on. “I had women friends in the Legion, and I see nothing unusual in a Thane befriending her housecarl. But,” he said, jumping onto a large rock, nimble in his leather armor, “it requires trust, and that takes time.”

Gillian opened her mouth and shut it, and opened it again. “I’m sorry, you know, for yesterday. For staring. I _don’t_ have a problem with your injury. It’s just, when I see people, I start imagining their backstories, and you…must have a fascinating one. It was rude, and I’m sorry. In my opinion, you’re as whole as the next man.” Shit, she thought, yet again.

Argis stared at her a minute before dissolving into laughter so raucous he had to sit down on his rock. After the red left her cheeks, Gillian joined in. “You might also add ‘helping me not sound like an ass in front of people’ to your tasks, housecarl,” she said, “because I obviously need it.”

“Everyone has her strengths,” he said. “It just wouldn’t be fair if you were Dragonborn _and_ a great mage _and_ a great archer _and_ good at talking to people. You _have_ to have a weakness. And I take no offense. The injury happened…a long time ago. I’ve gotten used to it. And my backstory is long and boring, my Thane.”

“That might be so, I’ve never thought of it that way,” she smiled. “And thank you. I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot…with you. It just happens so often.”

“It’s not just you,” he admitted with a crooked half-smile. “I didn’t exactly shine last night, snapping at you, and I’m sorry for assuming…” he let his voice trail off. “It was rude,” he finished, and nodded as he met her gaze.

He stood up and they continued their hike. “So, why leave the Companions after all this time? Why come to Markarth?” He wondered if she would tell him the truth or make something up. He wasn’t sure who the Harbinger was now that Kodlak was dead, but he couldn’t imagine anyone sending Gillian on a mission involving guile. There’s no way the woman would be able to lie convincingly – he’d stake his job on it.

Gillian took a deep breath. Here it was. “It’s hard to get from Whiterun to Markarth. The roads are dangerous, and no one ever does it if they can help it. Dawnstar is too cold for me, or it might have been a good choice, too. I had to get away from Whiterun, had to make a new start.” She paused and really put her heart into her next lie. “I was hurt by one of my…one of the Companions. I don’t want to go into it, but it was personal. And…painful.”

According to the cover story they’d concocted, she and Vilkas had been involved, and Vilkas had been unfaithful. So, when he became Harbinger and Gillian couldn’t avoid him, she’d decided to leave. It was true enough to check out if investigated: Vilkas _was_ Harbinger, and they _had_ been involved at one time. The other bit was nonsense, but she was sure if pressed, one of the village gossips would suddenly remember a rumor or an argument they’d imagined.

Argis had to give his Thane her due - he couldn’t tell whether she wanted to avoid the subject because she was lying, or because it truly was something she’d rather not talk about. He nodded, giving her the benefit of the doubt. “I understand painful memories,” he said, and stopped, setting down his pack. “Here we are. Give us a few minutes and we’ll have fresh fish.”

They’d stopped at a slow-flowing pool near the source of the Karth River, and sure enough, she could see fish swimming and jumping. “Hey,” she said, remembering something she’d meant to ask earlier. “When I got up this morning, I could have sworn I smelled chicken stew. Why did you make that if you were going to have fish for dinner?”

Argis scowled as he pulled out his net. “That’s not for me. For us. I took it to the Warrens. The people down there don’t have much, and I can’t give them much more – they won’t take it. But the mothers won’t turn down food to feed their kids, so I do what I can.” He watched out of the corner of his eye, awaiting her reaction; most people in her social circle would either be repulsed or would think he was simply wasting his time.

“The Warrens? I thought that was where miners lived,” she lied, collecting wood and stones for their cooking fire.

“Some do. But it’s mostly people who can’t work at all, and would, anywhere else, live on the streets or in camps outside the city. Here, they’re not allowed, so they all get packed into the Warrens. It’s…not a good place. Some of the people down there I fought with. The unlucky ones who made it back, but not ‘whole,’ as you put it. Their pride sure is whole, though.” He looked over at Gillian and was surprised to see the anger on her face. Her eyes looked like they were on fire. Like, literally on fire. “You ok?”

“Yeah, fine.” She shook her head and channeled her fire into the wood and stone. “Do you think they would accept things like potions or spells to heal? I bet infection and illness spreads like wildfire down there. I’m a good alchemist, I could help.”

Argis looked down at the fish he was cleaning, his heart leaping in his chest. “There’s no mother who would turn away medicine for her sick child,” he said, gruffly. “And many of them would accept healing magic as well. I wouldn’t advise it until they get to know you, though. You know how Nords are,” he said, grinning at her.

Gillian sat down next to him and hugged her knees to her chest. She exhaled and felt a weight fall from her shoulders. She needed to touch base with Aela for a progress report, but suddenly, her mission seemed possible, and less miserable than she’d dreaded. She had an ally, and the possibility of a friend, if she and Argis could learn to trust each other.

As for Argis, he sat cross-legged and began placing the cleaned fish on the hot cooking stone. Living with a mage definitely had its advantages, he thought, smiling as he considered the morning with his new Thane. He still thought she was up to something, but instead of dreading the fallout, he was looking forward to whatever she had planned. Maybe it was time for a little unpredictability in his life, and as he looked over at her, his eyes crinkled as his smile deepened.


	3. Just Beneath the Surface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argis and Gillian talk about her experience as Dovahkiin, and how he came to live in Markarth. Dinner conversation, terribly civil, but I always wondered how a discussion like this would go down. And I thought it criminal that Argis has no in-game backstory.

“What was it like, fighting Alduin?” Argis set his cup on the dinner table and asked the question that had been on his mind since Gillian moved in. He’d hesitated for a while, not sure if it was a subject she wanted to revisit. But he had to know…

Gillian dropped her fork and cleared her throat. He’d been silent all through dinner, quiet enough that she was about to ask him what was wrong. “Um…,” she began, tilting her head to the side and picking a piece of potato off her red embroidered tunic as she considered what to tell him. Few people asked her about Alduin, and to boil it down into a dinner conversation was difficult.

“Do you mind talking about it? If it’s too painful or traumatic…”

“No, it’s fine. Don’t get me wrong, I had several complete, emotional breakdowns, but over the last couple of years, I’ve dealt with it well enough.” She paused. “Do you mean the last battle? In Sovngarde? It was surreal, and a lot of it is sort of a blur. I was fighting with these ancient Nord heroes in the Nord afterlife, I mean…that doesn’t happen every day.”

Argis shook his head in wonder. “I remember hearing stories of the Breton dragonborn who went to Sovngarde, but I honestly thought it was something a bard made up. Did you see…”

“Anyone I knew? No. Kodlak was still alive, and at the time, I didn’t know any other Nords who’d passed on. Well, Ulfric... but I didn't see him, so... I was glad, you know? Nords think of Sovngarde as this sacred, joyful place. For Kodlak to have done…what he did to get there, just to have his soul eaten by Alduin…that would have broken my heart. I would have lost, right then and there. Done,” Gillian said, stabbing at her chicken, her eyes glistening.

“But, you asked about Alduin,” she said, straightening a bit. “The first time I saw him, I was properly terrified. I mean, I was at Helgen, waiting to be killed, you know the story, right?” She looked up as Argis nodded. “It was a dragon, I mean, what in Oblivion? I ran, screaming, and if it hadn’t been for a Stormcloak named Ralof, I never would have made it through. I thought I was dead.”

She poured a glass of wine and sipped for a few minutes before continuing. “The second time we met, he spoke to me, Alduin, I mean. He’d just finished resurrecting another dragon, and then…he made fun of me, and laughed…I thought it was over then, too, and I was scared. I was fighting with friends, this time, and I would be responsible... Not my finest moment. I remember closing my eyes, waiting for…whatever Alduin was going to do, and he just flew away.” She looked up at Argis. “Did you ever fight an opponent who viewed you as completely inconsequential? Just a bug that wasn’t worth squishing?”

“No, never,” he said, grasping his cup and leaning back. “My enemies were always keen to take me on, in fact. But I can imagine it wasn’t a welcome respite for you.”

“No,” she said, shivering. “I retreated for months because of that day. Alduin did what he did on purpose, and it worked. I sat in my room in Jorrvaskr for a month without speaking to anyone. Finally, Farkas, one of the twins, you know, came in and dragged me outside and forced me to fight him. I still have a couple of scars, and he does, too, but he was right to do what he did.” Gillian smiled at the angry, stunned look on Argis’s face. “Relax, I wasn’t your Thane back then,” she said. “And Farkas…could get away with more than most men. I mean, imagine your childhood teddy bear, but alive and bigger than you and carrying at least three swords – that’s Farkas. Unless you were a spider or bandit, he would sooner buy you a drink than run you through, so when he did…what he did, everyone paid attention.”

“Who won the fight?” Argis asked, twirling his knife between his thumb and middle finger, trying to work out why he was so angry, and why he wanted to beat this Farkas to a bloody pulp.

“I did…in more ways than one. He just kept hitting me, trying to make me react. Eventually, I blew up, and cast a fireball at him. But before it could reach him, I snapped out of it and Shouted, sprinting to him and knocking him out of the way before the fireball hit.” She winced at the memory. “We both ended up against the stone wall outside Jorrvaskr. The impact broke Farkas’s arm and I was knocked out.”

“Nothing a healing potion couldn’t handle, right?”

Gillian looked up in surprise at Argis’s slightly bitter tone, but went on. “I was better after that. Still, not going out in public, and trying to avoid involving my friends in my issues, but…better. It helped knowing I could outrun a fireball to save my friends,” she huffed and shivered again. “The final battle wasn’t for another…oh, a year, maybe. I was strong, and I had allies. The Empire was on my side, since I’d helped them defeat the Stormcloaks, and…the college of Winterhold showed up. And of course… the Companions. My friends were with me until Sovngarde, until I had to fly up to meet Alduin. And then they stayed near the eastern mountains, making sure none of Alduin’s allies were alive to help him.”

“You flew…” Argis’s eyebrows rose to improbable heights, and he tried to sip from his empty cup. “On a…”

“Dragon, yeah. Odahviing, that was the dragon’s name. Only way to get to Alduin’s lair and the portal to Sovngarde,” she traced a lazy pattern with her fork through her potatoes. “It was tough. I…was sure it would be a one-way trip, you know? I figured that was the end, and if I managed to take out Alduin, it would be worth it. No regrets.”

“But you came back, thank Talos.”

“Yes,” she smiled, “thank Talos. And Gormlaith, Hakon, and Felldir. Those ancient Nords still have the right stuff. And here I am, so that’s that.” She poured another glass of wine and looked up at him. “I’m curious about you, though. You’re a Reachman and decided to join the Legion…”

Argis leaned back in his chair, his hands crossed over his blue tunic. “I’m not a Reachman. My family was from Solitude. And...if you're going to live here, you should probably know that the term 'Reachman' means one of the Forsworn. I know some in Skyrim think it means anyone from The Reach, but here...it's different.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gillian stammered, embarrassed on both counts. “I shouldn’t have assumed…”

“It’s ok. Besides, I met Ulfric, and he was…not someone I wanted to fight for. His ideals for a free Skyrim are not mine. Not that I’d mind a free Skyrim, but it needs to be free for everyone, not just Nords.”

“I will drink to that,” Gillian tipped her glass a bit before sipping. “Oh, did the stories also include the fact that Ulfric asked _me_ to kill him, after his army had been defeated and he was literally the only Stormcloak left?” She’d definitely had too much wine, she thought, if she was telling this story.

Argis coughed and sputtered as his mead went down the wrong pipe. “Wh-what? No, that wasn’t part of the story I was told.” He set the cup down. “Did you?”

“No. I wanted to,” she said, and then noticed the shock on her housecarl’s face. “Not out of anger or bloodlust, not that. Legate Rikke, did you know her?”

Argis nodded, and Gillian motioned to the side with her hand. “Well, then you understand why. She and I talked often, you know how curious I am. She was such a proud Nord, and she had so much respect for the Stormcloak cause, yet…she knew it wasn’t right for Skyrim, and knew Ulfric had to die.” Gillian swallowed hard. “When Ulfric asked me to end him as the dragonborn, not as an Imperial, Rikke looked at me and nodded slightly, so Tullius wouldn’t see. But there were already rumors I would take over as Jarl of Eastmarch, and I wanted no part of that. I was afraid it would lead to yet more uprising, and then Tullius would change his mind about helping me with Alduin. No, I let the general take care of that, although it does hurt a little, you know?” She took a slice of apple pie and steered the subject back to Argis. “So, how did you end up down here, if you had Solitude waiting for you? I love Solitude.”

“I tried to return after I couldn’t fight anymore. Things…didn’t work out as I’d planned, let’s say. I stayed as long as necessary to heal my eye and a broken leg and arm, and tried to get back into the Legion. No healer could restore my vision, and they didn’t have a place in the war for someone whose lack of sight would just get him killed in the first battle, so they sent me here. Jarl Igmund needed proven loyal guards because of the Silver-Bloods and their Stormcloak loyalties. Even now, there are threats on the Jarl’s life, and Ulfric has been dead for years.”

“Have you ever…was there ever anyone…” There had to have been love and romance in Argis’s past, Gillian thought. Even with his eye and scars, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever met. Women must have fallen over themselves for him when he was younger.

“There was. Years ago.” Argis was as desperate to change the subject as Gillian was to know more. “I know this is rude to ask…but how old are you? I see battle scars and you have a white streak in your hair there,” he said, pointing to her left temple, “but otherwise you look…”

Gillian huffed, fighting her desire to dig further into her housecarl’s past. “I’m thirty-five. I do look young, though. Maybe it’s the dragon blood? It’s weird, absolutely nothing happened to me until I hit twenty-six, and then bam!” She slammed her hand on the table. “No room to breathe for the next nine years. It’s a wonder I’m not full gray and wrinkled as a hagraven. What about you?”

“Thirty-nine,” he chuckled. “I look like I could be your…much, much older brother.”

Gillian sighed in relief, afraid he was going to say ‘father,’ which was definitely not true, and also a little icky. “But you’re not,” she said, wrinkling her nose at him and smirking into her empty wine glass.

Argis’s smile faltered and his eyes widened. He was definitely in trouble, he thought.


	4. No Stone Unturned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gillian is having a better time in Markarth than she expected, but when she has to assist Aela with the mission, she has trouble coming up with a way to keep Argis off her trail. Argis suspects that Gillian is up to something, since intrigue is not her strong point, and is determined to find out what’s going on, so he can protect and assist his Thane. But, can he handle what he learns, or will he wish he left well enough alone?

Gillian settled into a comfortable routine while she waited for news from Aela. If she could help it, her days began with breakfast in bed (apples and cheese) accompanied by coffee and a book or two. For the rest of the morning, she brewed potions and cooked using whatever ingredients they'd had picked up in the marketplace or apothecary. He joined her in the kitchen on baking days, as he was a deft hand at making bread, although as a general rule, he’d rather shop than cook. Gillian looked forward to those mornings, as the two had developed an easy companionship, their initial misgivings about each other having vanished over the past month. She wondered if she'd miss him once her time in Markarth was over. Or their fireside evenings together, looking up from her book to find his gaze on her, the hard lines of his face softened by…attraction? Lust? Genuine affection? Had she imagined an attachment between them? She wasn’t sure, and although part of her wished to explore that connection, she had no idea if it was appropriate, given his duty toward her. He was right, she thought, friendship between a man and a woman was _indeed_ a delicate thing.

They spent their afternoons together, either training, delivering supplies to the Warrens, attending council meetings with the Jarl and his staff, or hiking in the hills, where they collected ingredients for cooking and alchemy, or hunted for meat and pelts. Argis found he was happiest during those afternoons away from the city, as Gillian seemed to relax more the farther they ranged from the stone walls. As a bonus, he knew few people who could hold their own against wolves and bears, and who weren’t squeamish when it came to preparing what they caught, but she proved a constant surprise.

She wasn’t a typical Thane, he grudgingly admitted. For one thing, she wasn’t born into money or social status; if not for the dragon blood burning through her veins, she’d be just another warrior or mage, albeit a talented one. For another, she didn’t seem to want to be a Thane at all. Rather than political and scheming, she was solitary and forthright, ignoring the privileges and gifts her position and celebrity afforded her. She avoided large-scale society, and her natural Breton loquaciousness stayed hidden until she’d had a few cups of wine or a particularly exhilarating hike or training session, he mused, remembering her laughter and bright eyes as she’d finally disarmed him last week, after attempting the move a dozen times. It would be easier if she _were_ a typical Thane, easier to think of her only in terms of the job, and not as…something else. Something he hadn’t known he wanted.

He realized how much he’d become accustomed to their routine after missing Gillian for the past two days. She’d awakened Loredas morning feeling ill, and had stayed in her room all day, taking only some bread, cheese, and watered wine on a tray he’d left by her door. Although she’d claimed to be sick, Argis thought her voice had sounded strange and forced, but why lie about being sick? On the third day, he knocked on her door. “My Thane? Do you need me to call a healer?” He’d heard light snoring before he knocked, and blankets rustling across the bed before she answered.

“No!,” she yelled, sounding half asleep. “I-I’m fine. No need to worry about me. Maybe…one more day should do it?”

He heard her body fall back on the bed, and the feeling that something wasn’t right intensified. Why would she be nervous about calling a healer? If her potions couldn’t cure her after two days, someone needed to be called. If she wasn’t ill, but involved in something dangerous, her bodyguard needed to know about it.

Argis camped out in the living room for the remainder of the day, dressed not in armor, but in robes enchanted with a chameleon spell. He’d taken them off a Thalmor justiciar, and they’d been useful in more than a few scouting missions over the years, as were the chameleon rings he wore. If anyone looked closely, they might see a shimmer or shadow next to the fire, but it would take a trained eye and rare focus. As night fell and the hours stretched on, he started thinking he’d made a mistake in not believing Gillian; wasn’t it silly to see a plot when the simpler explanation was an illness? But, a little before midnight, her door opened. She (looking perfectly healthy, he noted) walked silently through the house and out the door to the city. Argis padded after her in his softest boots, making sure to sidestep the guards.

She walked on the high path toward Understone Keep, nodding to the palace guards as she opened the door; Argis followed, sneaking in just before it closed. She walked up the pile of rubble leading to the Nichuand-Zel excavation. What could she be doing at midnight in an old Dwemer ruin? He followed her, carefully stepping over shifting rocks and broken stone, and watched as she walked over to a mage’s laboratory complete with an arcane enchanter and an alchemy table. To the right of the lab stood a small bed, upon which someone lay, curled up, blanket to chin. As he watched, the person disappeared, and the blankets shifted and flattened. Only years of training prevented him from gasping in surprise, and he followed the shimmer of a person cloaked in a chameleon spell to the passageway where he hid, pressed against the wall. The shimmer moved down the rubble-strewn incline and to the left, toward the throne room.

Argis didn’t know whether to follow the shimmer or confront Gillian, who simply stood in front of the alchemy table. She was dressed like a mage, in blue robes glowing with enchantment. She carried a staff on her back, the finial pulsing with otherworldly fire. Looking down the pathway once more, he made his decision and crept up behind her. “Gillian, it’s me. Chameleon gear, no one can see me.”

She stiffened. “What are you _doing_ here?” she hissed between clenched teeth. “Did you follow me?” Gillian’s heart beat faster. She knew she shouldn’t have pressed her luck with her ‘illness,’ but Aela was sure one more day was all they needed to move forward with their mission. For it to fail because she’d underestimated her housecarl…

“I did. I’m your bodyguard, remember? It’s my responsibility to follow you, and I’m embarrassed it took so long for me to do so. Please tell me what’s going on.”

Gillian took a deep breath. “I _can’t_ tell you-“

“ _I. Am. Your. Bodyguard_ ,” he snarled, emphasizing each word by tapping on his chest and feeling ridiculous because she couldn’t see it. “Gillian, what would it look like if you were found dead in the Keep while I was at home in my bed?”

“It would look like plausible deniability, Argis,” she said, furious. “I’d rather you be a disgraced housecarl than a prisoner in Cidhna Mine, you _stubborn_ man!”

Argis was stunned silent for a minute. “Well, that’s...very thoughtful of you, but you don’t get to protect me. I protect you, and if I’m to do that, I need to know what you’re up against, here.” He took a breath and looked over his shoulder. “And could you turn around? There’s no one here, and I know you can’t see me, but I feel weird talking to your back.”

Gillian softened at the uncertainty in his voice, and rolled her eyes. He had no idea how to deal with anyone looking after him, for a change. “Argis, I can’t leave. This is important. If you must stay, stay. But keep camouflaged, and keep out of sight.” She swallowed hard, thinking about her choices. “I need to know,” she said, turning around, holding a book in her hands and pretending to read it, “are you loyal to me first…or to the Jarl?” Her heart hammered in her chest, awaiting his reply.

“As long as you’re not trying to overthrow the city or assassinate the Jarl, you have my loyalty and my discretion.” He paused, and thought for a moment. “You’re not, are you?”

“No, of _course_ not! Gods!” Gillian sighed in relief. “Alright. I’ll tell you everything, but not now. My partner will be back in a couple of hours, and I have to stay here until then, acting like…like I’m supposed to be here.” Gillian frowned at Argis’s disappointed huff and stretched her hand out tentatively, barely touching his invisible shoulder before pulling back and turning to her work. “I have to stay. You’ll understand soon, I promise. Just stay out of sight,” she pleaded with him.

Two hours passed slowly. He sat on the floor next to the bed, his head resting on his knees, and watched Gillian as she read old texts and created potions, wondering what she’d gotten herself involved in. He'd almost nodded off when he noticed Gillian turn abruptly, and saw the chameleon shimmer beside the alchemy table. She again pretended to read, while speaking in a whisper to her mysterious partner, and after five minutes of heated conversation, motioned to Argis to follow her out of the ruin. He did, quietly, taking note of her white face and sad eyes. Once they were outside the Keep, she nudged him with her hip toward a dark corner. “Take off your chameleon gear. I hope you’re wearing something underneath,” she muttered, her eyebrows raised.

Argis did as he was told, revealing a gray tunic and leather leggings, and a dagger strapped to his waist. Gillian was glad she could see his face again, she thought, looking up at him as they walked toward the gates. It was strange hearing the familiar voice, but not seeing his eyes or smile. Not that he was smiling much at the moment; on the contrary, he looked quite put out. “Dragonborn…Bulwark,” the guard greeted them, surprised. “Where are you headed this time of night?”

Gillian held up her apothecary satchel. “Off to find nirnroot. Easier to see at night, you know, because of the glow.”

The guard nodded and opened the gates, and they exited the city. Gillian walked swiftly toward the hills where they usually started their hikes, and after about ten minutes, when they could no longer see city lights and Argis was using her shining robes to find the path, she turned to him, and opened her mouth to speak.

“Gillian, _really_ ,” a rich, smoky, feminine voice sounded from the darkness. “Did you have to drag your _boyfriend_ into this?”

Argis looked from a startled and blushing Gillian toward the disembodied voice, but saw nothing, and assumed her partner had followed them. “I’m her _housecarl_ , whoever you are, and she should have dragged me into this long ago. One of you needs to tell me what’s going on.”

He heard a sigh, and a rustle of fabric. A second later, Gillian’s twin, her duplicate, materialized in front of him, shaking out her long, red hair and holding a gray mask. “Wow, that’s… _wow_ ,” he said, whistling, and studied the woman, noticing her eyes were dark blue, rather than Gillian’s velvety black. Her lips were a less vibrant shade of pink, and her nose slightly longer and more freckled. If you looked at them in passing, you’d swear they were exactly alike, but…he looked at Gillian. “Do you have a sister?”

She pursed her lips, considering how to tell him, and shrugged as she chose blunt truth. “No. I do have shield-sisters, though. Argis, meet Aela.” She wondered how he would handle the next trick, and didn’t have long to wait.

As Gillian made the introductions, Aela grinned and waved her hand over her face. It rippled and settled into that of a completely different woman. She kept the red hair, but her features were less angular, less Breton, and longer, more Nordic. Her eyes were a startling silvery-blue. Argis stumbled back a couple of steps and stared, as the woman laughed.

“I never get tired of that reaction. At least you didn’t Shout me into a wall like Gillian, here.” Aela glanced at her shield-sister, who had hidden her face in her hands. It was always fun to embarrass siblings, she thought. “Or start praying, like Torvar. Remember that? He was so drunk-“

“Aela…the Huntress? You’re…” he turned to Gillian, his voice rising as he spoke. “This is all part of one big mission. Becoming a Thane, even buying Vlindrel Hall? _Why_?” He found himself conflicted. He was angry at having been a pawn in their game, but couldn’t help being intrigued.

“Remember when you spoke of attempts on the Jarl’s life even though the Civil War is over?” Gillian hoped Argis wasn’t angry or…hurt. Back in Jorrvaskr, she hadn’t imagined making friends, or anything else, in Markarth, so the possibility of hurting an ‘innocent’ never entered her mind. “Well, there are some factions in Skyrim who want to restart it. The Silver-Bloods are behind it, although that wasn’t what we thought we were dealing with when we started this…whole thing.”

“I’m listening,” Argis said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Aela looked at Gillian, who sighed and threw flames on a nearby dead tree stump, creating an impromptu campfire. “Thanks, sister. It’s freezing out here,” she said, and sat down in front of the stump, warming her hands near the flames. Gillian sat next to her, and Argis pulled a fallen log over and sat, facing both women. “About six months ago, priestesses of Mara and Dibella came to Jorrvaskr because the most vulnerable citizens in their respective cities were under attack. Vanishing without a trace. The priestesses took note of it about a year ago. When the Civil War was over and all the Stormcloak strongholds finally dismantled, many soldiers on both sides came home sick and injured and…damaged. And their spouses and children bore the brunt of it, as they tend to do when a nation fails to care for those who protect its people.”

“Some could find work, some couldn’t, and when they couldn’t, they disappeared into the Ratway in Riften or…” Gillian let her voice trail off, watching to see Argis’s reaction.

“Cidhna Mine. The Warrens,” Argis said, nodding and sitting straighter. “I’ve seen that happen here. But why would the temples interfere? Dibella and Mara?”

“Well, they’d usually reserve their efforts for more…ah… _tantalizing_ causes, but this problem was affecting women and children in a disproportionate way, and the Sibyl of Dibella swore there was something… _unnatural_ involved,” Aela shivered. “And when one of the Nine mentions the ‘unnatural,’ they usually mean something associated with Daedra. In this case, the Forsworn, and...Hircine.” She pulled her knees up to her chest and looked into the distance. “I thought I was done with Hircine,” she whispered.

Gillian leaned over and hugged Aela, watching Argis over her shoulder. “The priestesses said the ‘unnatural conspiracy’ inhabited the highest echelons in the Reach, and we assumed she meant the Jarl, or someone in his council.” She sat up straight and turned to her shield-sister with raised eyebrows. “Were we right?”

Aela sighed. “We were. Not the Jarl or Faleen, as I originally thought. But…Raerek is involved.”

Argis broke in, shaking his head. “Igmund’s uncle? No. That’s impossible.”

“It’s true,” Aela said, sadly. “I, ah, sat in on a meeting tonight between him and Thongvor Silver-Blood. Blood might be thicker than water, but a man’s devotion to a deity can lead him to do crazy things. He never got over Hrolfdir and Igmund turning Ulfric over to the Empire, and can’t be patient where Talos is concerned. He’s been working with the Silver-Bloods and…the Forsworn. They want to overthrow Imperial control of The Reach, once more.”

“But the Forsworn…bloody hell,” Argis began, swearing in frustration, “the Forsworn will _never_ accept Nord rule of the Reach. They want all the Nords gone and their kingdom back. This makes no sense.”

“Fanaticism rarely does,” Gillian said, looking up at him, her eyes shining in the firelight. “It’s a wonder Talos himself hasn’t come down to stop all the violence done in his name, but…the gods keep themselves to themselves, and there’s no priest anymore. Maybe Dibella and Mara are taking a more active role to make up for Talos’s absence.” She shook her head. “In any case, we came here to find out what’s happening to the poor, the abandoned women and children, the sick…and now we know. They’re being taken into the Warrens, into Cidhna Mine, and forced to work for this cause, a cause they know nothing about. Just labor, and when they’re used up, they either die of exhaustion or are killed.” She paused, tears choking her voice. “Someone in Riften is recruiting from the Ratway, and shipping labor in by the cartload.”

“I thought people were just leaving Markarth, and I wasn’t surprised. Between staying in the Warrens, and taking my chances elsewhere, I know what I’d choose.” Argis looked at both women, stricken and furious. “And the Jarl knows nothing of this, you’re _sure_?”

“No. He trusts Raerek implicitly, and with all the treasury reports coming from Raerek himself, nothing seems questionable from his point of view,” Aela said. “Luckily, Faleen is suspicious of everyone, and the Jarl leans on her counsel pretty heavily. We can use this to our advantage.” Aela turned to her shield-sister and put on her bossy face. “Next week, there will be a huge party at Understone Keep, and Gillian has been invited. Normally, she would tear the invitation up and burn it, but this time, she’s _going_.”

“Hey…why?” Gillian whined. She hated parties.

“I need a distraction so I can sneak into Raerek’s chambers and retrieve the evidence. He keeps correspondence under his mattress at night, and bolts his door from the inside. I can’t get inside during the day, and even I’m not good enough to take it while he’s sleeping, or I would have done so tonight. I tried, and was almost caught.” Aela looked at Gillian, her eyebrows raised. “I need you to create a spectacle only the dragonborn can create, do you understand? _All eyes should be on you_.”

Gillian sulked. “Yes. I understand.”

“Good,” Aela said, standing up and becoming Gillian’s twin once more with a wave of her hand, and equipping her chameleon gear. “I need to be getting back before Calcelmo returns to the ruin, and he’s an early riser.”

Argis stood and pulled Gillian up, and without thinking, rested his hand at the small of her back. “Can you get into the palace by yourself, or do you need us?”

“No, just get me into the city, and I can take it from there,” Aela said, her voice floating in the empty air. “Shield-sister, I know you’re going to fill your...ah… _housecarl_ in on the rest of the details, and this might be a good thing.” Aela smirked behind her mask as Argis removed his hand so fast she’d swear Gillian’s back was on fire. “You’ll probably need help at the party. So make sure you both know exactly what to do. We can’t have any slip ups.”

Once back through the gates, Gillian showed the curious gate guard a nirnroot sample she’d grabbed just in case, and they climbed the seemingly endless steps home. Gillian stalked toward the fireplace, paused, and turned to confront Argis, her cheeks red as snowberries. “I need to sleep. This schedule has been...” she closed her eyes and pulled her hands through her hair. “I will tell you everything tomorrow, but not here. We’ll go fishing at our usual spot and you can decide whether you want in or out.” She gave him a little half-smile and a wave, and stumbled off to bed, grabbing a glass of wine from the table as she passed.

Argis nodded, sighing, his hands crossed behind his head. He had no idea how he’d ever sleep tonight. Everything Aela and Gillian told him had rocked him to his very core, and he’d acted without thinking…he’d _touched_ his Thane, and not just a handshake or even a comforting pat on the shoulder. He closed his eyes as he remembered feeling that spark as his hand rested just above the curve of her hips. He’d wanted to pull her closer and comfort her, but…that wasn’t his job, he thought, shaking himself out of useless fantasy and walking slowly to his bedroom, cursing himself for a fool. He was only part of a charade, a tool to be used. It was in service of a greater mission, and understandable, but the end result was still the same, he thought. Why would the Dragonborn want a washed-up soldier? He wondered what would have happened had he not forced himself into her plan. Would she have left Markarth…left him...once it was complete?

Argis lay on his bed and stewed. Eventually, his soldier survival instincts kicked in and shut off his worried mind, sleep finally enfolding him in a flurry of anxious dreams.

 


	5. Down the Rocky Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aela and Argis begin to understand each other, and Gillian and Argis embark on an impromptu excursion. Their response to a near-death experience is unexpected.

 

Argis pulled on a black tunic over his wool leggings and yawned, stretching and trying to wake up after last night’s fitful sleep. He’d just put the kettle to boil in the kitchen when he heard a knock, a resonating metallic clang, on the brazen doors. “It’s Aela. Open the door and pretend to check the weather, and I’ll sneak in.”

He _did_ need to check the weather. Good day for fishing, he thought, as he felt her brush past him into the entryway. He shut the door, turned around, and a green-eyed brunette looked him up and down, a wicked smile on her red lips. “You would _definitely_ be fun to wake up to each morning. My little sister got the better end of the deal this time, I think,” she said. “Well, she’s earned it.” Aela’s face morphed into her true visage as she turned and sauntered toward the fire. “Got any coffee, by chance?”

“Started just before you knocked. A few more minutes should do it,” he said, a little uncomfortable under her scrutiny, but curious about her early, unexpected presence. “What time is it anyway,” he asked, stifling a yawn as he walked back to the kitchen.

“Nine o’clock, thereabouts,” she said, sitting on the hearth and warming her hands. “I take mine with cream, if you don’t mind.”

A few minutes later, he carried a tray with two mugs of strong coffee and a small pitcher of cream to the table in front of the fire. He drank half of his before feeling ready to talk. “So, what... ah...what’s going on?”

“I need Gilly to do something for me, and I’ll tell you both when she wakes up. I did want to talk to you alone, though.” She put her mug down next to the embers and stared at him for a moment. “How’d that happen?” She pointed to his blind eye with the bluntness of a fellow warrior, and Argis, to his surprise, didn’t hesitate to answer.

“Protecting an operative we needed to rescue from a Stormcloak hold. I chose to shield _him_ rather than my face, and…as you see,” he said, waving his hand toward his eye and skipping some of the details. “I pulled back just enough to keep the axe from being fatal. The spy survived, so it was worth it.”

“Damn,” she said, “I can see why you were appointed housecarl to the Dovahkiin. I’m impressed with your dedication. Has she seen you in action yet?”

“We, ah…were surprised by some Forsworn last week in the hills. She was all fireballs and ice spikes, and I took out a few of them, and just as I ran toward the briarheart, she told me to get out of the way.” He huffed and turned to Aela. “Would you have done that? Just…let her handle it?”

“Probably not. But let me guess. You kept running and she Shouted you into next week?”

Argis laughed softly and nodded. “Yeah, she thought I was moving away. That was the first time I saw _her_ in action, too. I’m not sure what shocked me more: the Shout itself, or seeing that kind of power coming from... _her_. She’s amazing. Just…and then she smoked the briarheart, turned him to dust, and came running up to me, crying and apologizing and yelling about how much of a jackass I was. It's funny now.”

Aela watched him stare into the fire as his voice trailed off. “You were lucky she used force instead of fire. It’s almost too bad you’ll never get to see her fight a dragon. I’ve seen some crazy things I can’t explain, but watching her absorb a dragon’s soul is…right up there.” She picked up a pinecone out of the bronze kindling box and tossed it from hand to hand. “So…you and Gillian, eh?”

Caught off guard, Argis glared at her, eyes narrowed. “That’s not funny. I’ve never-“

“Of course you’ve never, that’s obvious. But…you care for her, that’s also obvious. She cares for you as well, and to be honest, that’s a new thing for Gilly,” she said, pursing her lips and looking off to the side, in thought. Last night she’d watched them walk down the street, a little closer together than usual for housecarl and Thane. She’d seen the covert glances when they thought no one noticed, and it was more than just a crush, or lust. “As long as I’ve known her, I’ve _never_ seen her look at a man the way she looks at you.”

Argis huffed. “There’s no way that’s true. She has to have-“

“ _Not_ what I’m talking about,” she said, rolling her eyes and picking up her mug. “She’s been involved with men, of course. She and the Harbinger were an item, long before the Alduin mess. She and the Harbinger’s brother, as well, but those…weren’t the same. Not the same type of… _relationships_ at all.”

Argis leaned forward, his color rising and his voice low. “You mean she…and those twins were…”

“Ha!” Aela pointed at him. “Gotcha. I _knew_ it. But yeah, they were. That was years ago, though, and like I said, it was more a matter of convenience and comfort than anything else. You can’t possibly care about that. It’s not like you’ve been celibate your entire life, right?”

“No,” Argis began, “but that’s different.”

“Why?” Aela scoffed. “Because she’s a woman? Because she’s a woman you happen to care about? You’re better than that. Or, I _thought_ you were.”

Argis brooded for a few minutes, and sipped his coffee in silence under Aela’s baleful glare. “It’s different because…she’s not going to be here forever. I know Whiterun’s her home. There’s a light in her eyes when she speaks of it, and if people she’s been…intimate with are there, well…” he shrugged. “I’ll never see any woman from my past again, probably, and I can’t imagine wanting to. But, everything she's been through with them...a lifetime of memories always within her grasp...” He looked into Aela’s silver eyes. “I don’t want to lose her,” he admitted, recognizing the fear that had slid like a poison dagger into his mind last night.

Aela’s glare softened, and she motioned with her cup toward the bedroom where Gillian was emerging, yawning and rubbing her eyes. “Then _don’t_. Because make no mistake, she’s yours to lose,” she said, getting up to pour a mug of coffee for her shield-sister. “Hey, sleeping beauty, nice of you to join us!”

Gillian looked at them through squinting eyes. “Aela? What are you doing here? Something wrong?”

“Not a thing. But, I do have a task for you, one that you two will love, promise.” She looked from Gillian to Argis, hoping he’d keep an open mind. “I need you to go to Whiterun.”

Gillian squealed and hugged Aela. “Yes, road trip!” She looked over at her housecarl, her infectious smile irresistible. “I get to show you _everything_...where I found out I was dragonborn, where I made my first piece of armor-“

“Where you almost bled out after falling over the back porch at Jorrvaskr, ripping the stitches Danica put in your back, and opening up Alduin’s claw marks again? Good times,” Aela grinned and winked at Gillian, who just sipped her coffee, still smiling and dancing a little happy dance.

Argis wanted to hear more about the Alduin story, but put that and his concerns about meeting Gillian’s exes aside for the moment. “Um, why are we going to Whiterun?”

Gillian looked back at Aela, puzzled. “Yeah, why? I thought I was _not_ wanting to go back.”

Aela sat back down, and motioned for Gillian to join them. “You’ll have a cover story to tell Igmund, should he ask. I have a forged letter from the Greybeards summoning you to High Hrothgar. No one, not even the jarl, will question the Greybeards, and it’s close enough to Whiterun that, if you happened to stop by, it wouldn’t be a big deal.” She bit the inside of her lip. “As for why, there are two things. First, Vilkas needs to know what’s going on, and I can’t send a courier. Tell him _everything_ , and…he needs to go to Solitude _personally_ , and talk to General Tullius and Queen Elisif. They have to send troops immediately if they don’t want a repeat of the last thirty years. Second, talk to Eorlund. I had a thought early this morning. His family are supporters of a free Skyrim, and still angry about the Civil War. I’m honestly surprised he still talks to you, Gill.”

Gillian gasped in open-mouthed indignation. “You don’t think for a _second_ that-“

Aela raised her eyebrows, surprised her little sister had such a naïve streak after all this time. “I don’t think Eorlund would _personally_ condone what’s happening here, but…would he lend his support to resurrect what he believes was the Stormcloak cause?” She sipped her coffee. “Maybe. In any case, talk to him, find out. _Warn_ him. Even if he isn’t involved, some of the younger, more fiery Grey-Manes might be.”

Gillian nodded. She needed to pick some things up from Eorlund anyway, and this was perfect timing. “Ok,” she said, turning to Argis. “Would it be ok with you if we stayed in Riverwood? The inn isn’t as nice as the ones in Whiterun, but it'd be easier to spin that if someone did see me. It’s closer to High Hrothgar.”

Argis’s mind was already on road maps and packing lists. “Sounds fine to me. When do we leave?”

Aela stood up. “Thanks for the coffee. This afternoon. As soon as you’re ready. There are horses waiting for you at the stable.” She called over her shoulder as she walked to the door, her body vanishing as she yanked on her mask. “You might make it to Riverwood by nightfall, but maybe not. Take camping gear with you, just in case. And Argis…remember my advice.”

Gillian looked from Aela's voice to her housecarl, puzzled, but her excitement about visiting Whiterun with Argis soon distracted her, and she sprinted back to her room to pack.

 

* * *

 

“I feel so _free_!” Gillian exclaimed, as they rode over the bridge out of town. She looked up at the mountains, silver in the late-morning sun, and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

“We cross this bridge almost every day. Look,” Argis said, pointing to the creek bank. “You picked nirnroot from this very spot just last night. You’re wearing armor. That means work, you know.”

“I know, stop trying to steal my joy,” she laughed. “It’s the principle of the thing. We’re on the way out of town, so…it’s different. And since the Forsworn episode, we always wear leather armor. No big deal. And hey, no helmet!” They rode in silence for awhile, the only noise the rushing river, waterfalls, and wind whistling through the mountain passes above. Every so often, bees buzzed across the path, and once, a family of foxes darted around the rocks at the base of the hills. She thought about what awaited her in Whiterun. What if Eorlund _was_ involved? He’d been like a respected uncle to her for so long, she couldn’t imagine him associated with something so despicable. But like Aela said, deeply-held beliefs made people do crazy things. She was also nervous about keeping up pretenses with Vilkas; they’d faked an explosive, public argument before she left, but if he didn’t expect her…

She was so deep in thought, she didn’t notice her horse had started veering off the road for a snack of thistles growing in a small, grassy patch a few feet away. “Hey, watch out,” Argis said, reaching out to snag her reins and gently guide the horse back on the path. “Well, since we’re pretty far out of town, can we have that talk we were going to have anyway, today? I still have questions.”

“I know,” Gillian said with a sigh. She had questions, too. “What do you want to know first?”

“Ah…ok. Not really the most important, but the most intriguing: why does Aela wear your face in the Keep, and how did she learn that trick in the first place?”

"Aela’s cover at the Keep is as Calcelmo’s new assistant or intern or whatever. She works for him, for very little pay. Maybe no pay. Not sure, doesn’t matter. Last night, I went to the Keep to give her an alibi. I’ve done it a few times. If someone sees her where she’s not supposed to be, or thinks she had a hand in something… _troubling_ , there’s always a guard or two who can say it wasn’t her, she was at work all night. Or in bed all night.”

Argis nodded, “makes sense. But has no one mentioned how much you and she look alike?”

“It’s never come up; no one's caught her yet. We’ve never been in the same place at the same time, and people tend to see what they expect to see. How she learned to change her appearance is a long story, but the short version is, she studied with some insane illusionist in Riften. Down in the Ratway. It’s also where she got that gray mask that must have a killer chameleon enchantment. I’m not sure, she never lets it out of her sight. She had a slight…conflict of identity several years ago, before the final fight with Alduin, and took a couple of years to study magic, primarily illusion magic. She’s incredible.” She looked over at him. “Next?”

Argis thought for a few minutes as they passed by a roadside shrine to Dibella. He hoped it was a good omen for their travels, since they were doing Dibella’s bidding. After taking a moment to ask the goddess’s blessing, he turned to Gillian and finally asked what troubled him the most. “Why become a Thane, if you didn’t want to stay in Markarth? You could have torn that mine apart with all your power. Why the secrecy and intrigue?”

Gillian was silent for a moment. After last night, things had...shifted between them, and she felt horrible at having deceived him. Well, she thought, nothing for it but to tell the truth and let him in, if he wanted in. “Farkas wanted to blow up the mine. That was his first thought, you know, if the mine’s gone, problem solved.” She looked up at a gorgeous waterfall to her right and a hawk circling overhead. “And maybe I _could_ have done it, but what about the prisoners, the workers, the people forced inside? Most of my power, as you found out last week, isn’t precise. I can’t pinpoint it, and I wasn’t willing to kill innocent people if there was another way.”

She paused and took a drink from her waterskin. “Not to mention possibly destabilizing the entire city. Once blowing up the mine was off the table, we didn’t know how far up the conspiracy went, and we weren’t sure how easy it would be for Aela to move unhindered in the Keep. So... me, as a contingency. But mainly, I serve as one big distraction. You’ve noticed our house has become sort of a landmark, right? Residence of the Dovahkiin,” she said, in a singsong voice. “That’s one of the reasons I like Whiterun so much. Everyone knew me when I was just a Jorrvaskr whelp, and we kept the dragonborn thing a secret for so long, I was…anonymous. Even now, people really don’t care.” Gillian smiled at Argis’s raised eyebrows. “But in Markarth, I’m sort of a circus act. I was pretty sure the jarl and everyone on his council, Silver-Bloods included, would be suspicious of me, and wonder if I had ulterior motives, if I was a spy, etc.” Gillian laughed and pointed at Argis’s face as his smile faltered and he shifted in his saddle. “Ha! I’m _right_! The jarl asked you to watch me, right? See, it worked. We figured if they were busy thinking I was some sort of spy or saboteur, they wouldn’t think too much about the mage’s assistant.”

“You’re right,” he admitted, “but I’ll have you know I did no such thing. Like I said, unless you were trying to assassinate someone, your security is my only business.”

Gillian hoped Argis would say something else: that he understood, that he didn’t blame her, that he…what did she expect, she asked herself. A hand on her back didn’t equal a declaration of undying love and an amulet of Mara. Even if it had been her _lower_ back, and there had been an ever-so-slight caress involved, before that fun-ruiner, Aela, brought his attention to it. They rode in silence for another hour before he finally spoke again.

“Want to stop for a break? There’s a short path off to the right, up here, and we can pull off the road.”

“Sounds good,” Gillian moaned. “If I don’t get down and walk for a bit, I might never be able to again. I’m not used to riding anymore.” They nudged the horses to a canter, and a few minutes later, stopped at a fork in the road, one path headed downhill and heavily wooded. “What’s down here?”

“Nothing much, just a hunters’ camp. We’re close to Lake Ilinalta, so lots of wildlife here,” Argis said, dismounting and leading the horses to a patch of grass and thistles.

“Oh, are we in Falkreath? I heard the jarl here is a bit of a prick.”

Argis laughed. “He is indeed. He’s more concerned with town intrigue, though, than what goes on in the wilds, so most of the Hold just lets him be.”

They took turns walking down the path to take care of business and stretch their legs, and then sat down on a large, flat rock to bask in the late-afternoon sun and have a drink and a snack. The rock was big enough for them both, and Gillian felt like a housecat as she stretched her arms over her head, and closed her eyes. Argis leaned back on his hands and turned to watch her, heavily conscious of the scant inches separating his body from hers. _If Aela was right…_ he imagined the potential scenarios that a stolen kiss could precede, and decided to take the risk. He turned on his side and started to lean over, but as he moved closer, he saw a flash of movement in the woods.

Acting on instinct, he moved into a crouch and jumped over Gillian, his sword out, as three sabre cats rushed out of the woods. The horses shrieked and pulled at their ties. Gillian had fallen asleep on the rock for a few minutes, just enough to make her groggy and thick-headed as she sat up, her heart racing as she Shouted a sloppy, incomplete fire breath at two of the cats on the left side of the rock.

Argis hacked and slashed at the burning and yowling cats, trying to ignore the ice spikes Gillian threw in between his swings. Between ice, fire, and steel, the cats finally died, but not before he ended up with slashes on his bicep, forearms, and inner thighs, and was losing more blood than he’d like. He started to hobble over to the calmed horses to get a healing potion from the packs, but Gillian called him over, a golden glow pulsing in her hands. No self-respecting Nord wanted to admit it, but Argis loved healing spells. He limped over and sat down on the rock beside her, and she wrapped his arms and legs in soft, warm light that sank under his skin and took all the pain away, leaving small red lines where the gashes used to be.

He wiped some of the blood and sweat off his face and looked up at her. “That…that felt _really_ good. Thank you.”

She drew in a deep breath and exhaled hard through her nose, throwing one arm around him and pulling his forehead to hers, softly sobbing. “No, thank _you_. I should have been watching. What was I _thinking_ of, falling asleep out here? You could have…I…” She couldn’t believe how close they’d come to being mauled by three apex predators. If Argis had fallen asleep… “How did you see them?”

He wiped away her tears, and looked down at the other hand she held clenched in her lap. He took it in his hands and kissed it, still dedicated to taking that risk. “I was watching you rest and saw them move out of the corner of my eye. I was actually debating whether or not to kiss you, so I guess-“

Gillian moved her hand from his back to his jaw, and quickly pressed her lips to his. Argis pulled her close, ignoring the pains in his healing arm as he returned her kiss, gently and carefully, his heart pounding in his chest as the kiss deepened. Their mouths opened a little, tongues brushing each other's lips for the smallest second. He pulled back slowly, capturing her lower lip for a moment before they broke apart. “I’ve wanted to do that since you said that ridiculous thing about me being ‘as whole as the next man.’ I saw myself rushing to you and kissing you senseless, but instead I fell on that rock, laughing.” He smiled and kissed her once more. “Let’s go. I want to get to Riverwood before the rest of the predators come out.”

Gillian let him pull her up, then drew him into a tight side hug, her head resting on his shoulder as they walked back to the horses. “Too bad Ilinalta’s full of slaughterfish,” he said. “I could do with a bath.”

 

 

 


	6. Breaking Down and Building Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Thane/Housecarl relationship between Gillian and Argis has never been typical, and during a night in Riverwood, it splinters even further.

“So…” Gillian sighed as she and Argis finally leaned against the closed door to their room at the Sleeping Giant Inn, “ _that_ was a long night.” She walked to the mirrored dresser and began combing out her hair, wet from her too-short, too-cool bath. She glanced back at Argis, still leaning against the door in his wheat-colored linen tunic and dark brown drawstring trousers, arms crossed over his chest. He smiled, and the comb fell from her fingers, hitting the ground and sliding under the dresser. Gillian sighed as she bent to retrieve it.

Argis stifled a tiny laugh as he watched her tame that tangled mass of molten copper, her cheeks pink and eyes bright, if a little tired. “Seeing Hadvar again and again must be… _interesting_ ,” he said, his jaw clenching in frustration. Too much time had passed since their kiss, and things were awkward. Gillian was nervous, and he was on edge. The remainder of their journey had been swift and silent, and they’d made it to Whiterun Hold without encountering any other predators, but his plans to continue where they’d left off had been thwarted by that giant ass.

As soon as they’d entered the inn, Hadvar and his uncle, the blacksmith Alvor, started buying drinks for ‘the heroes of Skyrim,’ and then dinner, and they’d talked for hours with what seemed like the entire town. Gillian, as a Thane of Whiterun, had felt obligated to stay, and they’d probably still be out there if Argis hadn’t stood up and, in his most authoritative housecarl manner, decreed it bedtime. After their showers, it was nearly midnight. “Did they know he’d been on your execution detail when they assigned you on missions together?”

“Yeah, and I doubt they cared,” she muttered a few curses over a particularly vicious snarl. “I came close to botching my first real mission for the Legion – getting the Jagged Crown from Korvanjund – because of him. Were you still…”

“No. I remember hearing about it while I was recuperating,” he said, opening his bag and taking out the next day’s clothes, hanging them on a little chair next to the dresser.

“He- Hadvar- assumed I'd joined the Stormcloaks, since I’d escaped Helgen with Ralof, one of the other prisoners. Also from Riverwood…I’ve always wondered what happened to him. He was a good man.” She put down her comb and started rubbing honey-scented lotion over her face and neck. “Anyway, I Shouted him down and he realized who I was before things got ugly.” She turned and leaned against the dresser, smiling at Argis. “He had lots to say about _you_ …you’re sort of a legend to young pups these days, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m the old, one-eyed man recruits make up campfire tales about,” he said, laughing softly as he went to the window and shut the green-striped curtains.

"Lucky for me, that’s just what I’m into now,” Gillian said, strolling over to him and running her hands up his back, feeling the dampness of his skin through his clothes, relaxing as he leaned into her touch. Her weariness must be lowering her inhibitions, she thought, as her anxiety melted away. “Opening my eyes and seeing you jumping over me to face three wildcats was…quite something. You really do live up to your name.”

He turned around and took her hands in his, pulling her against his chest. “Just doing my duty, my Thane,” he said in his deep, rumbling voice. He bent down to press a gentle kiss on her smiling lips before picking her up and walking over to one of the two little beds in the room. “I want us to get some sleep tonight, but I don’t think either of us will with this on our minds.”

He sat down on the bed, back against the wall, and let Gillian rest against the pillow, knees bent over his thighs. He held her hands in his, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over her palms. The thought of his hands anywhere on her body made her breath catch and her heart beat faster.

“Interested in me, are you?” Gillian smirked, mimicking typical taciturn Nords beginning the process of courtship in Skyrim. She pulled her fingers between his, feeling his rough skin against hers.

He smiled at her, his tawny eye twinkling. “I won’t lie, I am,” he said, gruffly, trying not to laugh.

“Well, now _that’s_ out of the way...” she said, pushing his hair out of his face and running her fingers over his dark red tattoo, following the lines that curved to the base of his neck. He shivered at her touch, as she lightly traced his collarbone and looked up to meet his gaze.

He placed both hands on her hips and, in one quick motion, pulled her onto his lap to straddle his thighs, and kissed her mouth. He wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss as she held his face in her hands, her fingers teasing his sensitive jawline and neck. Argis kissed her forehead as he brushed her hair back from her face, then returned to her mouth with none of the gentleness he’d employed earlier that day. His lips pushed hers open, his tongue brushed and licked against the inside of her lips before he explored further, finding her tongue and caressing it with his own. She pressed her body against his, wrapping her legs around his waist, and he moved his hands down her back, cupping her rear, his fingers stroking and kneading her skin.

Gillian moaned as Argis nipped her bottom lip and pushed his tongue against hers, his neatly-trimmed beard rough against her face, her lips, her jaw as he kissed his way to the neckline of her camisole. “I could take it off,” she said, desperate to feel his body against hers.

He pulled back and stared at her then, her round breasts pressing against the soft cotton of her camisole, the stiffened peaks of her nipples just visible through the thin fabric. Her hair was tousled where he’d run his hands through it and her color was high, her ebony eyes wide with desire.

“Not…” he struggled to remain in control, “not tonight.” He kissed her as she looked at him, puzzled. “I mean- I _want_ to, don’t misunderstand me. I want to more than just about _anything_. But it’s late, and we’re tired, and I can hear the person in the other room _snoring_. This isn’t where I want that to happen for the first time, Gilly.”

She let out a soft gasp. “You called me Gilly, not ‘My Thane!’”

“Well…” he said, caught off guard, not realizing he’d let that slip, “I thought all the deference was going to your head, you know.” Argis grinned, thinking of a time when he might be able to call her anything he liked, anywhere he liked.

Gillian mock pouted, her soft pink lips tempting and plump. “So can I at _least_ kiss you as much as I want tonight? If so, you’re forgiven for your lack of propriety, _housecarl_.”

“Wait ‘til we’re back in Markarth, minx,” he said, standing up with Gillian still wrapped around him, his hands pulling her hips hard against his, “I’ll show you lack of propriety. Make no mistake, when we’re finally together in our house with our solid stone walls, I want to make you call my name louder than _these_ flimsy sticks can handle. Tonight, I just want to kiss you until we’re exhausted, and then fall asleep with you next to me.”

“For now, though…” he kissed her nose and lay her gently down on the mattress. “I’ve already done the math here, and we’re not going to fit on this tiny excuse for a bed.”

He pulled the two beds together, and pushed the dresser between them and the opposing wall. “This way, they’ll stay together and we won’t fall through,” he said, as he moved the nightstand closer to the door and set the candle on it. Gillian tilted her head to the side as she watched her housecarl move heavy furniture around the room, appreciating the way his muscles strained at his tunic. The way he could switch between gentle and fierce in his affection was curious, she thought, and something that she was anxious to explore when they had more privacy.

When he finally pulled back the covers to join Gillian in their makeshift double bed, she wound her arms around his shoulders and pulled him over her, his weight pinning her to the bed. She hooked one of her legs around his, and held him fast, looking into his eyes as he smiled a sleepy smile. Her hands ran slowly up and down his back, feeling his muscles move as he braced himself on his forearms on either side of her. Lifting her head, she placed the softest of kisses on the corner of his smile, opening the floodgates as his mouth crashed into hers, over and over.

They kissed until their lips were plumped and tender, and every inch of Gillian’s exposed skin reddened by Argis’s beard. She kissed every scar on his arms and neck, even the pale, jagged one on his face, and Argis whispered her name as he pressed his mouth against her neck, pausing long enough to realize they were both falling asleep. He settled his head on his pillow, nestled softly in the crook of her neck, her chin resting against his forehead. Their breathing deepened, and they slept soundly until the sun rose the next morning.

 

 

 

 

 


	7. All That Glitters...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argis meets the Companions, realizes a hidden cost of loving the dragonborn, and understands a bit more about what Gillian has been through.

“Wait…so you were involved with the twins-“

“ _Separately_ , Argis,” she said, blushing. “You make it sound like…never mind. The point is, the story I told you about being betrayed by a Companion was a cover, in case someone wondered why I left Whiterun. No one hurt me. I’m not telling you this because I’m ashamed of my past-“

“You shouldn’t be.” He grinned as he listened to Gillian try to stutter and stumble through an explanation of her past relationships with the two Companions. Her phrasing invited a certain amount of teasing, although he wished she’d look at the rocky path as they walked instead of at his face. She’d already tripped twice.

“I just wanted to let you know no one hurt me, because you’re going to be meeting these people, and I don’t want you to hate them,” she said, looking sideways at him and fiddling with the catches on her pack. “The Companions took me in when I was basically a fugitive, and gave me a home. I owe them my life.”

“Aela told me about the twins before we left Markarth. I’m interested in your past, Gilly. But I don’t want to control it. If the Companions took care of you, I owe them a debt as well. No worries on that front.”

She exhaled, relieved, and gave him one of the apples she packed for breakfast. They’d slept too late to eat at the inn. “We’re still playing that role, though, so Vilkas and I will be cool toward each other in public, just so you know.”

“Got it,” he nodded, eating a few bites of his apple as they crossed the bridge out of Riverwood, veering north toward Whiterun. “Speaking of playing roles…it’s not smiled upon, you know, what we’re doing. That we want to be together. If the jarl knew, he’d have me removed from your service. I probably should have mentioned that last night.”

Gillian snorted. “I’d like to see him _try_ it. I put up with a lot of shit being dragonborn,” she said, fire in her eyes as she increased her pace, “and I’ll be damned if some spoiled child is going to tell me who I can and can’t –“ She broke off and took a deep breath, in and out. “Why didn’t you wait, then? Until I was…finished? If you were worried?”

He exhaled heavily. “You’ve become important to me in a short time. Not short by Nord standards, of course. People with normal lives would be hitched by now, you know,” he grinned and took another bite. “With our obligations, what if I’d waited until you were ready to go back to Whiterun? I could see that. ‘Wow, sexy housecarl, that would have been nice to know a month ago, but I have to go infiltrate the Dark Brotherhood now, so have a nice life.’”

Gillian laughed at his attempt to copy her voice, and thought for a few minutes about a possible future with him, leaning into him a little as they walked. “The way I feel about you now, I would’ve stayed and figured it out. I’d already decided this was my last mission before it even started, so after…I’m free, no more moving around,” she said, looking up at him. “But, I’m glad you didn’t wait. After all, it saved us from death by sabre cat yesterday. Good omen, right?”

Argis looked around before grasping her hand and holding it to his lips for a moment as they veered around the path, Whiterun coming into view. “I like the sound of that. But, I don’t want to cause you any extra complications or endanger your mission.”

"Ok, I’ll make a deal with you,” she said, shivering pleasantly at his touch. “In public, I can be ‘My Thane,’ until this is all over. But in private, I’m Gilly, and I’m not hiding my feelings for you in front of the twins or Aela. I’m not sure I could even do that.”

“I believe it.”

 

* * *

 

“So when is this party you’re supposed to disrupt?” Vilkas tapped a finger against his lips as he thought about the logistics of their plan. He, Farkas, and Gillian had retreated from the common room, and were lounging in the Harbinger’s quarters downstairs. “How big is it? If Tullius and Elisif do send troops…well, we’ll talk about that later. What are you planning to do?”

“I’ve just gotten my head around showing up, Vil. Gods, I hate parties,” she said, swinging her feet as she sat on his nightstand. “Any ideas? I figure I’ll wear that one dress with the dragon scales on the bodice. You know, the one that shows Alduin’s claw marks on my back? That’ll definitely get a rise out of people, but it’s not _enough_ …”

“It _will_ turn heads,” Farkas said with a leer. “You should figure out a way to Shout in the middle of the ballroom. Is there one that wouldn’t get you immediately arrested?”

“Hmm…I could do something fun with Ice Form. Like some sort of ice sculpture, maybe. Why don’t I just arrive with Argis flying on Odahviing? That’d make a statement,” she said, watching Farkas’s mouth drop as he nodded, practically salivating at the idea.

“Icebrain…” Vilkas rolled his eyes at his brother’s gullibility.

“I didn’t think she’d actually _do_ it. Just thought it’d _look_ cool.”

“So, where is this…housecarl, anyway?” Vilkas smirked. “Ditch him at the Huntsman as soon as you passed through the gates?”

“At the Skyforge. Remember when I wrote you to take the black and red dragon scales to Eorlund?” She motioned to Farkas, and he nodded. “I commissioned some armor for Argis. As a parting gift, but it’ll come in handy at the party. It _will_ be pretty spectacular.”

“You did... _what_?“ Vilkas said, his eyes wide as he stared at her, dropping the ceremonial dagger he’d been playing with. “That’s not-“ he broke off as a knock sounded at the door. Opening it, Vilkas looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Gilly?”

She hopped up from the nightstand and skipped to the door, as her housecarl walked into the room. “Vilkas, Farkas, this is Argis. When I say your names all together, it sounds ridiculous…” she let her voice trail off, her smile fading. He looked impassive, his face a mask of forced politeness she hadn’t seen since they met. “Are you…?”

Argis nodded. “Good to meet you. Mind if I borrow my Thane for a moment?” He motioned toward the hallway and, hands on Gillian’s shoulders, led her out the door, shutting it in the twins’ open-mouthed faces as she looked up at him, bewildered.

“Did he just-“ Farkas began, turning to his brother, barely able to believe that the dragonborn’s housecarl had almost frogmarched her out the door.

“Yeah, he did. Gilly might very well have met her match,” Vilkas said, smiling.

 

* * *

 

“Dragonscale armor? _Really_ , Gilly?” Argis looked at her, completely stricken, as they stood in the hallway. That armor cost more than anything he’d ever possessed. The chameleon gear he prized was basically beggars’ rags in comparison. She could buy Proudspire Manor with that set. Oblivion take it, she could probably buy the Blue Palace.

“Um.” She frowned up at him, hands on her hips. “Why are you upset? Don’t you like it?”

He stared at her. “When did you commission that armor for me?”

“Remember a few weeks ago when you caught me looking at the armor in your case? In your room? The ceremonial stuff with the jade and ebony inlays?”

Argis did remember. She’d told him she just thought it looked cool, and he took that at face value. It did. “But... _why_?”

“I wanted to. I had no idea all this,” she motioned between them with an open hand, “was going to happen. But I wanted to do something nice for you. I mean, why _shouldn’t_ you have it?” She was beginning to feel hurt by his reaction.

“The _cost_ , Gilly…I can’t…” he stammered, almost speechless. “Dragonscale armor isn’t ‘something nice,’ like a goblet or even a good sword. It’s a…it’s a _fortune_.”

The door opened and Vilkas looked around at them. “You guys almost done fighting? We still have plans to make and mead to drink-“ he pulled the door shut, laughing, as Gillian threw a book where his head had been, her eyes never leaving Argis’s still-scowling face.

“You’re worried about the cost? _Argis_ …” she sighed, almost smiling, and looked down the hall before standing on her toes and placing a quick kiss on his cheek. “Can we talk about this later? I will, I promise I’m not trying to get out of anything, but there really are things Vilkas still needs to know if he’s going to make a trip to Solitude in the morning, and this is a conversation you and I can’t have out in the hallway.” She squeezed his hand as he slowly nodded, and they walked back inside together.

 

* * *

 

“Good news is, Eorlund and the Gray-Manes aren’t involved in the shit going down in Markarth. I talked to him about it before coming here,” Gillian sat with Argis at a table across from Vilkas and Farkas and recounted the favor Aela had asked of her. “Apparently, Jon Battle-Born and Eorlund’s niece finally stopped sneaking around and made it official, and their families made peace. They’re being secretive about it, but it’s true. And Eorlund was, quite frankly, _insulted_ I even asked. So at least we don’t have to worry about that.”

“Really? I haven’t seen them around lately, but didn’t think anything of it. Did they finally let him go to the Bards’ College?” Farkas asked.

“Hm…yeah. He was just too poetic to hang around Whiterun forever. Nice his family finally saw that.” Gillian watched Argis, concerned about his outburst. Somehow she’d have to convince him that they didn’t hold a balance sheet with each other. “Do you have enough information, specifics, to go to Tullius and Elisif with?”

Vilkas stood up and opened a wardrobe, taking clothing out and laying it on his bed. “Yes, I should say so. Especially since Aela actually infiltrated Cidhna Mine and saw everything with her own eyes, including where the mine empties into the Reach. Hopefully I can be there tomorrow morning and see them first thing. I’ll leave tonight.”

“Wow, I figured you’d hang out until morning. But good. I’ll be glad for this all to be over. I really hate all this secrecy.”

“But it did come with some unexpected benefits,” Farkas said, smirking between Argis and Gillian. He laughed as Vilkas kicked him under the table. “Oh, come on, brother. It’s obvious. I bet we’ll all be taking a trip to Riften before the month’s out.”

Argis’s face was expressionless, giving nothing away until she smiled, and then it softened, telling the twins everything they needed to know.

Vilkas slugged his brother on the shoulder. “You two should come to dinner with us and have some drinks before I catch the carriage to Solitude. I can sleep on the way, and we have lots of catching up to do.

 

* * *

 

Gillian and Argis were quiet on the way back to Riverwood. She wasn’t sure how to explain herself to him, and he wasn’t certain what he was even upset about. Once they got back to their room, they silently packed for the return journey and got ready for bed.

“Ready to talk?” Argis asked.

“Yeah, Argis-“

“Thank you,” he said, his hands on his surprised Thane’s shoulders, causing her to jump a little. “Thank you for the armor.”

“But?”

He sighed, backing up a step and holding his hands out, willing her to understand. “You could buy your own island with that armor, Gillian. Do you have a set too?”

“Yeah. And the twins have dragonbone armor. From dragons they helped kill. They haven’t sold it yet,” she said a little more harshly than she meant to, she noticed, as Argis flinched. “Aela didn’t want any; she said it was all too constricting.” She walked over to the bed and sat down. “Why does it _matter_? It’s not like I paid for it. You should see Eorlund’s face when he gets to work with dragon materials. The very idea he’d accept gold for that...”

Argis sat next to her. “I did. He was deliriously happy. And I love the armor, Gill, it’s…like nothing I’ve ever had, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that…I didn’t really think about that aspect of your being dragonborn.”

She rearranged herself on the bed, facing him cross-legged. “This isn’t proud man stuff, is it? Like, you feel you need to give me things…”

He sighed. “Well, not exactly. But what could I give you that you don’t already have?” He looked into her eyes, and turned to face her. “For that matter, why do you want _me_? You could have anyone in the province. The country, even. You could be a jarl, or even the queen if you wanted. You could-“

Gillian was getting more and more wound up as he spoke, fire building in her belly. “First of all, relationships aren’t equations, Argis. I don’t keep score and I hope you don’t either. Do you think I want you to go out and buy me expensive things?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, and he didn’t have the words. “No, of course not. I gave you a gift because it was mine to give, and I thought you would look amazing in it. The dragonscale was just sitting in a safe in Jorrvaskr, so why _not_ give it to you? Who else?”

He said nothing, noticing that her ebony eyes flickered with orange rings as she became upset. He shook slightly as she placed her hands on his knee.

“Second, I want you because I _do_ , there’s nothing more to say. Do you have a list you check off when you meet someone you like? No, you don’t, because love doesn’t work that way. It just happens…and I’m over the moons that it's happening now. You’re kind, clever, strong, gorgeous, loyal…what else should I _want_?”

"But I'm… _nobody_ ,” he said, staring at her hands. “Just a fisherman’s half-blind son.”

“I didn’t know your father was a fisherman.” Gillian said, the interest in her voice surprising Argis. “I suppose I figured he was a soldier of some sort, like you.”

“Nope. His father was a fisherman too, and he hoped I’d break the chain, just…not the way I did.” He sighed and stood up, pulling the covers back and climbing into bed. Gillian followed, wrapping her arms around him, her head on his chest. “I remember when I got the tattoo right after I signed up,” he said, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall. “He was so _angry_. He wanted me to be a bard, you know. A better life for me, so he said. Sent me to school, but...have you ever been to the Bards’ College? Too cutthroat and snooty.”

“He said, and then joined the Imperial Legion. _Seriously_? They’re pretty snooty too. And speaking of snooty, do you really think _I am?_ ”

“No, but you’re limiting yourself with me.”

“My feelings for you are not limiting. If anything, I feel more free than I’ve ever felt. Do you think I’d ever be happy in some gilded palace? _Really_? You _know_ me, Argis. Think about it.”

He did, and he knew she was right. He was an idiot, he thought, but _still_...

“And anyway,” she said, tensing up a bit, “I can’t be a jarl or a queen. I can’t even be a jarl’s wife. I literally _can’t_.”

He looked down at her, puzzled. “What?”

She sat up straight and stared at him, face tilted slightly to the side, eyebrows raised.

“What’s with the bossy face?” He grinned.

“What I’m about to tell you is a secret. Like, a state secret. You can never tell, or even let on that you know. I’m serious.”

“Ok, you know I’m sworn to carry your burdens and all that. Go on.”

Gillian took his hands in hers, tracing the lines and scars with her fingers. “After the Civil War ended and Alduin was dead, people called on me to take a position of leadership. Jarl, adviser, some even suggested I attend the moot as a candidate. I constantly refused, but it didn’t matter. Within a few months, there were several…attempts on my life.”

“What did you say?” Argis said, his voice deathly calm. Gillian leaned back, understanding the fear his enemies must have felt when he turned that steely gaze on them.

“I never could prove it, but yes. Accidents, too well-orchestrated and coincidental. One time, an assassin…well, he didn’t realize Aela was with me, and she gutted him before he could even get near me. After that, I went to Solitude with Kodlak and confronted Elisif and Tullius. They never admitted it, but we knew. They didn’t want to _lose_ power.” She leaned back into Argis’s side. “I didn’t _want_ it. In front of witnesses, I signed away some imagined intention to rule any Hold in Skyrim, or in any province of Tamriel.”

“I would have cursed them out on principle,” Argis snarled, tightening his hold on her, pulling her closer.

“Yeah, it was tempting to call Odahviing and just burn the whole place down, tell the truth.” She squeezed his hand. “But I wanted to get on with my life and help people if I could. So I signed. They also wanted me to marry Falk Firebeard, Elisif’s steward. To keep me close.”

Argis kissed the top of her head. “Is this when you called Odahviing?”

Gillian laughed and relaxed a little. “Falk was just as horrified as I was. I mean, marrying someone you don’t love is fine if there’s respect and trust involved. But marrying someone because you’re pressured into it just makes a mockery of the whole thing. That’s the one thing I refused to do. Although, I did promise never to marry a jarl, or into any ruling family.”

“Why did you do that?”

“At the time, honestly, I didn’t think I’d ever _get_ married. I’d never met anyone I loved like that. And I thought it’d be hard to know if he was marrying me for me, or just because I was dragonborn.”

They were silent for a minute, and Gillian sat back up to look at Argis. “See, I can’t marry a jarl anyway. Even if I wanted to, which I _don’t_. They’re all babies or jerks, except for Balgruuf, who’s like an uncle to me. Not romantic in the slightest.”

“Does anyone else know about this?”

She nodded. “The Circle. Aela, Vilkas, and Farkas. We told them before Kodlak died. Vilkas even went to Solitude and made them aware of... _repercussions_ should anything well-orchestrated or overly-coincidental happen to us. You don’t fuck with the Companions,” she said, laughing. “And Odahviing and Paarthurnax know, too. They would take it as a...personal insult if I were harmed for being who I am.”

Argis leaned over to kiss her, and stopped short. “And who is Paarthurnax?”

“Dragon,” Gillian kissed him, smiling. “Just Akatosh’s second-born, you know, no big deal.”

He stared for a moment before laughing and tumbling with her onto the pillows. His lips met hers, softly, and his hand slid down her body to rest just below her waist, his thumb making lazy circles on her hip.

Gillian drew her breath in, sharply, and settled in under his weight, letting the darkness enfold them as she snuffed the candle on the dresser before twining her arms around his back.

* * *

 

Later, just as Argis was drifting off to sleep, he remembered something Gilly'd said earlier. '... _love doesn’t work that way. It just happens…and I’m over the moons that it's happening now._..'

He wondered if she realized what she'd said, and smiled as he slept. 

 

 


	8. A Steamy Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gillian and Argis return from Whiterun and indulge in a bath, only to be interrupted by a summons from Understone Keep.

“Aaand…we’re back,” Gillian said, rolling her head around to stretch her neck as the city gates clanged shut behind them. She smiled up at Argis, and walked around the marketplace, still busy despite the late-afternoon misty rain, and up the steps leading to Vlindrel Hall. Remembering to act ‘like a Thane’ around Argis was becoming increasingly difficult, especially after two days of freedom and isolation. Oh, well, she thought…the party was in a couple of days. Hopefully Aela would have things wrapped up soon after, and her part would be done.

Argis waited until they were inside to stretch his arms over his head and twist around a little, his body stiff from the last six hours of horseback travel. He looked forward to a bath. And… _other things._ But a bath first, he thought, as he followed Gilly through the house and to his room to unpack. He heard water flowing and bubbling, and smiled as she came out the bathroom and walked into his arms. He lifted her up for a kiss. “That was the longest trip ever,” she said, sliding back down on her toes. “And as soon as we both don’t smell like horse, I’m taking you up on the promise you made me in Riverwood.”

Argis ran his hands down her back and kissed her neck, smiling as he felt her shiver. “I _never_ break my promises.”

“I’ll go on in and heat the water,” she said, and skipped back to the bathroom. “Even a stubborn Nord has to admit living with a mage has its advantages!” Argis watched her go, looking forward to the evening. As he began to unbuckle his leather armor, he heard a knock at the door.

A palace courier backed up a step on the stone patio as Argis stared down at him. “Um...Jarl Igmund requests the presence of the Thane at the Mournful Throne. If she would follow me…?”

“My Thane recently returned from a long journey and is…ah… _unavailable_ at the moment. When she’s ready,-“

The courier, a young man, stared at Argis and stammered, fidgeting with his card. “What- do you refuse to-“

“Come _on_ , man,” Argis said, losing his patience. Could someone old enough to shave really be that naïve and dense? “What do you think my Thane, my… _Lady_ …might be doing after a long day on the back of a horse that would delay her visit to Understone Keep?” He grinned at the young man’s sudden blush.

The courier handed Argis the Jarl’s card and stammered an apology.

“Please assure the Jarl that we will hasten to the Keep as soon as my Thane is ready,” he said. “It won’t be long.” Argis laughed as he closed the door, and walked through the house, wondering at the timing of the Jarl’s request. Had he been watching for them? Was he suspicious of Gilly, so much so that he sent someone to fetch her almost as soon as they returned from Whiterun?

He stood in the doorway of the bathroom, and the tightness that had formed around his mouth relaxed as he saw her, lying in the big bronze tub, her red hair banded and piled on top of her head like a fiery cloud. The large kettle hanging over a nearby firepit was full of warm water and, together with the water from the tub, made the bathroom steamy and inviting. She opened her eyes. “Was someone at the door?”

He nodded, finally unbuckling his armor and groaning as it fell to the floor. “Palace courier. We’ve been summoned to the Keep. Have you heard anything from Aela? Any reason the Jarl should suspect you of anything? The timing is curious.”

“No, I’ve heard nothing. We’ll just have to see what happens. I don’t think Igmund is very wily, though. If he suspected me, I have a feeling we would have been met at the gates by an armed escort, not a courier.” She sat up, the water barely covering her breasts, watching Argis shrug off his tunic. Seeing him without a shirt was almost breathtaking, his chest broad and covered with light brown hair that thinned out over his torso, disappearing down his unlaced leggings. She grinned and motioned him forward with a toss of her head.

“We…” he swallowed hard, “won’t have much time. I don’t think-“

“You shouldn’t. You should wash me, instead,” she quipped, surprised at the lack of shyness she felt around him, even though she was naked and he was nearly so. The waves of arousal coupled with the nights they’d spent wrapped around each other in Riverwood must have taken care of that, she thought.

His gaze fixed on her, he knelt beside the tub and kissed her, feeling her tongue press against his lips as he opened his mouth to let her in. He let his hands trail down her shoulders and into the water, his fingers teasing her hips and the curve of her bottom as she knelt up in the tub. She wrapped her arms around him, twining her fingers in his hair. Rivulets of water trickled down his ribs as she pressed her warm breasts against his chest. She moaned into their kiss, and he pulled back, catching her bottom lip between his own.

He bent down to the jar of soap, scooping some of the rosemary-scented goop and running his hands up and down her torso. His big hands lathered her shoulders first, massaging the soap into her skin before moving to her back and _finally_ , Gilly thought, to her breasts. She closed her eyes as he rubbed the suds into her skin, her nipples turning into stiff little pebbles as he caught them between his fingers.

Gilly watched as he reached for the dipper in the kettle and sluiced the soap away with hot water. He asked her to stand, and her body, fully naked and wet, was a beautiful sight. Gritting his teeth as he tried to keep their time constraints in mind, he smoothed more soap on her hips and legs, reaching into the water to wash her feet as she giggled. “Ticklish?” he said, smirking. “I’ll have to remember that later,” he teased, as his hands moved up her legs, rubbing her rounded calves and thighs.

Standing slowly, he parted his hands, moving one to her rear, massaging soap into her buttocks with firm, circular motions. She moaned as his fingers worked, closing her eyes and resting her head on his chest as he slid his other hand between her legs.

After she was thoroughly, exceptionally clean, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Kneel,” he commanded, dipping more water and pouring it over her rear. She submerged herself up to her neck, rinsing away the rest of the lather, and grinned at him.

“Your turn,” she said, dreamily, and started to ease his leggings down over his hips. Her fingers teased the taut skin over his hip bones as she peeled the leather from his body, and her eyes grew wide and dark as she pulled his erection free from its constraints. She rose from the water as he climbed in, standing up. She grabbed some soap and the dipper, and wet his skin with the hot water, making him gasp in surprise.

“Whoa, that’s hot!” He laughed, his skin steaming. “Your dragon blood’s strong if that level of heat feels good to you. I’ll have to remember that later, too.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, blushing. “I forget not everyone has my heat tolerance.” She winked at him and lathered the soap in her hands and, as he did for her, lathered every inch of his chest and back, her hands massaging the tension of the day out of his muscles. “I hate we have to leave in a little bit,” she said, kissing his mouth. “I wish we could stay. This room is so warm, and we’re already so naked, it’s a shame to put on clothes.”

He struggled to remain in control as she moved her hands to his lower body, gathering more soap and warm water to wash his legs and feet, her dark eyes looking up into his as she knelt just inches away from his hips. She heard his breath catch as her fingers slid from his hips to his erection, the slippery soap making her hands glide effortlessly up and down. She paused, and Argis detected the slightest hint of blush before her hands slipped between his legs, making sure he was just as clean as she was after his ministrations. “When we get back from the Keep, there should be no more delay,”she said with a wicked grin. “And you probably shouldn’t look at me like that while we’re there.”

“It will be a miracle,” he said, teasing her nipples with his soapy fingers and watching her blush, and not from shyness this time. “There’s no way the Jarl won’t pick up on this.”

“Argis, we’re just that good,” she said, tilting her head to the side and kissing his collarbone. “Think how much fun fooling him will be.”

“You’re right,” he said, and yelped as she poured another dipper of water down his back. He sat and rinsed every bit of soap from his body, and watched her climb out of the tub and dry off. She offered him a towel as he stood up.

“I’m going to get dressed,” she said, throwing her towel on the floor and striding naked from the room. “I’ll meet you by the fire.”

 

* * *

 

Walking through Understone Keep, Gillian didn’t feel as confident as she had in the warm, steamy bathroom alone with Argis. Here, conflict teemed around every corner, and she could hear someone arguing with the Jarl from the foot of the stairs leading to the throne. She couldn’t make out everything that was said, but Argis tensed. “Silver-Blood,” he whispered.

She nodded and walked shakily up the stairs. At least she dressed to the occasion, her gold-trimmed dark blue tunic, leggings, and soft black boots comparable to everyone else’s attire. Argis was particularly handsome in the ebony-and-jade ceremonial armor she’d once admired so unstealthily, although it was nothing compared to how spectacular he’d look in his new dragon armor.

Faleen, the Jarl’s housecarl, noticed her standing on the top step and tapped the Jarl’s shoulder. He looked up and smiled suddenly, dismissing the person he had been talking to. She didn’t recognize him, but his scowl and fine attire marked him as a Silver-Blood, as Argis had suspected. “Gillian,” Igmund said with a smile, “how is my Thane this evening? I trust my courier didn’t make too much of an imposition in requesting your presence. He is young and a little…eager.”

She took a deep breath, smiled her most polite smile, and walked toward the throne, willing herself to relax. “Not at all, my Jarl. If I’d not smelled like horse, I’d have followed him to the keep immediately,” she said, shrugging, “but as it was, I think the slight delay benefitted us all.”

He looked her over, his eyes pausing on her slightly wet hair, and high color. He glanced around her at Argis, who wondered if his hair was wet as well, but dismissed the misgiving. He’d been on horseback for hours, and there was nothing suspicious about a bath after a long journey.

“The reason for my summons…I’ve not heard whether you plan to come to our little soirée. Did…”

“Oh!” Gilly exclaimed, her cheeks flushing with genuine embarrassment, “I meant to return the card before leaving for High Hrothgar. Of course I’ll be there, I wouldn’t miss it. I’ve heard it will be a wonderful evening.” Her voice sounded stiff and overly-formal in her head. She hoped the Jarl noticed nothing amiss.

“Are you planning to bring…an escort, by any chance?” He looked pointedly at her.

She shook her head slightly, pursing her lips. “No, just me,” she grinned, looking back at Argis. “And my…housecarl, of course.”

Igmund looked ridiculously pleased as he smiled and crossed his hands over his chest, lounging in his throne. “Excellent. Then,” he sat up, “I hope you will favor me with a dance? I would very much like to get to know you a little better, since you are making your home in our fair city. Can I count on it?”

Gillian had been puzzled during the entire audience, but this last question threw her for a loop. He summoned her here to ask her to dance? Surely not. “Of course, my Jarl. It will be my pleasure.” She stood in front of him, smiling like an idiot, not knowing what else to do.

Faleen stepped up, and Gillian almost slumped in relief. “My Jarl, your dinner meeting is waiting.”

Igmund stood, his hands stretching out to grasp hers in farewell. “Well, we will see you Morndas night, Gillian.”

She nodded and turned around to walk down the steps, when he said, in afterthought, “and how is your housecarl working out? I had originally selected a woman for you, but when I realized Argis the Bulwark was available, well…my Thane deserves the best.” He paused, his narrowed eyes flicking over Argis's inscrutable face and imposing posture. "Now that I think about it, perhaps..."

“Argis has saved my life twice already,” she said, her voice suddenly husky, “so I owe you a debt of gratitude.” She hoped he’d mistake her emotional, teary eyes for tired, glassy ones.

"Well, I suppose it's fine, then." He tilted his head to the side and opened his mouth as if to ask her another question, but at Faleen’s cough, he bowed to her instead, and walked back to his apartments.

 

* * *

 

They were quiet on the way back home, walking the high path as quickly as they could. As the bronze doors shut behind them, Argis turned the key in the lock and threw it on the floor. He wrapped his arms around Gillian, lacing his fingers behind her head, and pushed her against the stone wall, kissing her mouth with a ferocity that bespoke days of waiting. Days of teasing, he thought, as he remembered his mouth on her naked body in the bath, her fingers coaxing his arousal.

Their meeting with the Jarl finally pushed him over the edge, and as he watched that man flirt with Gillian, the final wall he’d built around himself crashed and tumbled, releasing six years worth of bottled-up pain, frustration, and anger. He pulled back from the kiss and looked into her wild eyes, his hands unlacing her tunic as he spoke. “So, what do you want to do now? Have dinner, or…?”

Gillian let out a small sob, gasping for breath as she recovered from his kiss. “Or...by the Nine, Argis....”

He kept his eyes on hers as he continued unlacing her tunic, easing it down her shoulders. It dropped to puddle on the floor. She leaned forward to kiss him, but he turned his head, and her lips missed his by a breath. She whimpered. He gathered her hands in one of his, and held them tightly between her breasts, his mouth kissing and teasing each nipple in turn. His lips curled in a crooked smile as his other hand pulled at the laces of her leggings. Kneeling, Argis watched Gillian’s face flush as he kissed and nipped the skin around her hip bones, his teeth and fingers pulling her leggings down until they joined the tunic.

Gillian breathed shallow, gasping breaths as Argis pressed the length of his body against her naked one, holding her hands over her head and pinning her against the cold, hard stone. Tears welled in her eyes as she felt her body shake with need. Finally, Argis let his lips touch hers, gently at first, but soon their lips were crashing together, and he felt his control start to slip. He buried his face in her neck and breathed in her honey scent before picking her up in a cradle carry and striding back to her bedroom.


	9. So Close...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gillian and Argis get ready for the Jarl's party, and revisit memories - some old and some new.

Argis’s smile grew to improbable proportions as he watched Gilly walk from the bedroom to the entryway. Dressed for the jarl’s party, she looked like a column of whirling flame. She wore a copper circlet set with diamonds and garnets on her forehead, and she’d gathered her fiery hair into a disheveled knot at the crown of her head. The bodice of her gown was constructed of fine gold chain and dragon scales, but the scales were like nothing he’d ever seen. All shades of orange and red, they looked like a sunset, shot through with gold and burnished to a glossy shine. Perfectly molded to the shape of her curves, the bodice left her back and arms completely bare.

A low-slung band of scales encircled her hips, and from it, flowed crushed, airy panels of garnet, gold, and copper silk, sewn together so cleverly it looked as though the colors melded seamlessly into one another, her every movement giving the impression she was dancing in a bonfire, thriving in it, feeding from it. Gillian pulled on long, fingerless gloves made of gold silk as she walked toward him, smiling.

The gown was a beautiful frame for the work of art that was Gillian, Argis thought. And the true showstopper - Aela's required distraction - was Gillian’s back. She’d had the gown made before the battle in Sovngarde, when her back had been a smooth expanse of peaches-and-cream, freckled skin. Aela had mentioned the scars, but Argis hadn’t truly grasped the enormity of what Gillian had gone through with Alduin until two nights before, when he’d carried her into her bedroom and lain her, naked, on the bed and had seen...

 

_They were lying on their sides, her naked body pressed tightly against his fully-clothed one. He wanted to tease her for a while. He kissed her neck, her skin golden in the candlelight. As his hands moved down her back to the swell of her hips, his fingers brushed over what felt like a thin, knotted rope. His hand stilled, and she gasped, her eyes widening. He could see fear there, and he gently turned her over to lie on her belly. From her left shoulder down to her right hip ranged an arc of claw marks, deeply ridged and ghostly white. He looked up into her face, his hands still caressing her back, and she told him about Alduin’s death throes, of his claws shredding her back as he’d desperately tried to hold onto his own life. How Odahviing had flown her, bleeding and close to death, to Whiterun, and had bellowed until help had come. How Danica and Arcadia, Whiterun’s healers, had saved her life. Argis kissed every inch of those scars until the fear in Gillian’s eyes subsided. She told him, as she unlaced his tunic and leggings, that she was glad the scars were still there. That she sometimes needed the reminder of what she’d put her body through, especially when she felt insecure and inadequate. He kissed her. “If you ever feel that way again,” he said, taking off his clothes and wrapping his arms around her, “come to me.”_

 

Her dress displayed those scars like a trophy now. Aela could dance through the hall like a frost troll and no one would look away from Gillian.

"Where did you get those scales?” Argis asked, pulling himself out of his memories and into the present. It had been a fun two days.

“There’s a cave pretty far north of here. Darkfall Cave,” she said, stuffing her key and a handkerchief into a copper silk reticule. “It opens onto a wilderness called the Forgotten Vale, and there were these two strange dragons…they looked like firebirds, swooping and swirling, and…breathing fire. I didn’t want to kill them, but they kept trying to kill me, so I didn’t have much of a choice. I’ve never seen anything like them, and I’ve seen a lot.”

She looked him up and down. “I was so right about that armor. Perfect. I hope you like it a little better now.” Argis’s armor was made of black dragon scales, some of which had red markings and swirls of color. It almost looked like old Daedric armor, the kind Imperials used to make before the Oblivion crisis, but sleeker and…deadlier. Less ornamental. It fit him like a second skin and with his golden hair and handsome face, he looked as noble as anyone she’d ever seen. Together, they might prove to be enough of a distraction for Aela, Gilly thought, and if she needed to make an ice sculpture with a Shout or two, so be it. She was just excited for everything to be over.

"Ready?” Argis offered her his arm, and she smiled up at him, kissing him once more before they had to become Thane and housecarl for just a little while longer.


	10. If It's Not One Thing...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argis and Gillian attend Jarl Igmund's party and dutifully provide Aela with her needed distraction. While they're distracted by memories of the last two days spent alone together, the Jarl is planning a surprise of his own.

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived at Understone Keep, finely-dressed citizens and courtiers milling about, drinking wine, and buzzing with gossip and news. The usually-dim entryway was bright with braziers and cleverly-placed mirrors, and the additional light and cheerful music playing in the ballroom elevated the keep from its usual gloom.

With the shadows lifted, Gilly could see all the way up to the Mournful Throne, where Jarl Igmund sat, suddenly straightening out of his usual lethargic loll and looking their way. “Remember our discussion regarding the jarl, my Thane,” Argis whispered from his position behind her left shoulder.

 

_They lay in bed in the morning's small hours, her arms wrapped around his torso, her head resting on his shoulder. “Did you notice anything…did you notice how the jarl spoke to you today?”_

_“Nothing strange, I don’t think. Honestly, I was just so ready to get back here, I didn’t notice much.” She kissed his chest and snuggled even closer. “Why?”_

_Argis shifted. “He…was flirting with you. Pretty hard, I’d say. Asking about your date for the party, requesting a dance…” He rolled his eyes and scowled. “And think about the gifts he’s sent you while you’ve been here. Flowers, that jeweled necklace last week…those are **not** things a jarl does for a thane. Usually, it’s the other way around.”_

_“No…” Gillian sat up and looked at him, her eyes wary. “No, **no** …there’s no... Shit. I didn’t think about it that way. Because of the whole dragonborn thing, I get gifts sometimes. I just thought...” she swallowed. “Did you catch where he seemed to question keeping you as my housecarl? I cut him off, but that looked like where he was going.”_

_Argis **had** caught it, and had taken it as a warning. He’d not done such a good job keeping his expressions neutral, and when the jarl started flirting with Gilly, he was sure it had been noticeable. Not that the jarl would ever assume his hardened expression was due to his own interest in Gillian; he was too oblivious for that. He probably chalked it up to being an overzealous bodyguard. Argis nodded. “We don’t have much longer, Gill. But remember, courtship in Skyrim is brief. If you don’t look closely, you might miss it. I just…”_

_She frowned. “You don’t think I’m interes-“_

_Argis pulled her back down to his chest and held her close. “No. Not for a minute, but…your agreement with the queen…I just don't want the jarl to put you in danger. Just…keep your eyes open, that’s all._

 

Gilly nodded, trying to stay serene despite the stares pointed in their direction. People had started to notice them, and mouths dropped open, eyes widened. Her gown and Argis’s armor were items of living legend; as Argis had said a month ago, he’d thought most of the stories about the Breton dragonborn were bard’s tales, and it took bard’s tales coming to life to provoke the wealthy and powerful to exhibit this much awe and curiosity.

As they made their way through the crowd to pay their respects to the jarl, Gilly could feel beads of nervous sweat start to form under the stiff bodice of her gown. “I hope Aela takes full advantage of this. It better be worth it,” she said, under her breath. She heard Argis grunt in response, and sneaked a look back at him.

He looked at her with such fierce pride. His smile was almost smug and satisfied, and his eyes crinkled with the joy of a man in the company of the most beautiful woman in the room. Which she wasn’t, Gillian thought, but _oh_ …how he made her feel that way.

 

_Gillian stretched, arching her back and lifting her arms above her head. She laughed as Argis caught her hands and held them gently, his other hand tracing a feather-light line down her jaw and neck as his mouth followed his fingers on the other side of her torso. He sat up and let her arms go, but she kept them just like that, her body on display for Argis to see. His eyes devoured her, his hands caressed her soft curves. He positioned himself above her, his eyes never leaving hers. “I will **never** get tired of seeing you like this,” he purred, backing up as his lips found her belly and teased it with kisses._

_“A naked woman?” Gillian smirked. “Stop the presses, you don’t say.”_

_He moved further down, his eyes roaming over her skin. “Naked for **me** , stretched out for **me** …” He slid his hands underneath her back, his fingers squeezing her as they moved down to cup her buttocks. Gillian moaned as he kissed her inner thigh, and he grinned up at her. “That makes all the difference in the world.”_

 

Argis fought to keep his expression impassive as party-goers closing in behind them gasped in morbid fascination at Gillian’s back. Their gazes followed them, the crowd’s reactions growing from an interested buzz to an incredulous cacophony as they reached the steps leading to the throne. The jarl had anticipated them, and in an unheard-of move, got up to walk halfway down to meet Gillian in the middle of the reception line, offering her his hand.

“My Thane, you are incomparable this evening,” he said, his lips grazing her fingers. “Such a unique gown…from High Rock, maybe?” It would have been indecent to stare overlong at her bodice, so the jarl kept sneaking glances, Argis noticed, although he couldn’t tell what fascinated the jarl more – the scales, or Gillian herself.

“Partly. The dragon scales are all Skyrim, my Jarl,” she said, smiling. “I thought it fitting, as I’m partial to both cultures.”

“Indeed,” Igmund smiled at her, looking behind her to nod at Argis, his forehead furrowing as he noticed the new armor. “Would you do me the honor of a dance, Gillian?”

It took all her concentration not to look back at Argis, and she could feel his gaze on her back. “Of course, it would be my pleasure,” she said, a polite smile pasted on her lips.

 

_Gillian lay on her belly and sighed as Argis rubbed her shoulders, his strong hands easing her muscles. Hours into the evening, her body was still a little stiff from riding horseback and meeting with the jarl. She felt his gaze on her back, and smiled as he leaned down and kissed her scars once again. Her stomach growled._

_“We did miss dinner…want me to go-“ Argis motioned to the kitchen. He was a little hungry as well. Not enough to leave the bed, but if Gilly wanted him to, he would._

_“No…” she smiled, rolling over to face him. She sat up and moved to straddle his hips, feeling him move under her, growing harder as she slid back and forth, teasing him. “I have other things you can do for me first, if you don’t mind.”_

_“It would be my pleasure,” Argis said, lifting his chin to kiss her smiling mouth._

 

Gillian blushed from her forehead to her neckline as she struggled to keep her attention in the present. Just a few more secrets, she thought, just a little longer.

“Let me remove my cloak, I won’t be a minute,” he said, and skipped up the steps. When he returned to her side and took her hand in his, she turned away from the party to face him once again. Her face froze, and she felt her blood racing as two angry blotches of red painted her cheeks.

Jarl Igmund was wearing an Amulet of Mara.


	11. A Tactical Retreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party continues...Aela gets her distraction, and Gillian upstages the Jarl with a surprise of her own.

Aela the Huntress surveyed the party like a cat waiting to pounce on a mouse. From her vantage point to the right of the Mournful Throne, she watched Gillian and Argis walk up the steps to greet the Jarl, and sighed quietly. That armor. Black as Oblivion, swirled and swooped blood red – Eorlund had outdone himself this time. _Sweet merciful gods_ , she’d never seen anything look so beautiful and yet so very deadly, except for the dragon itself, of course. Gillian had worn her gown once before, with much the same response – all eyes on her, and for good reason. Most memorable fairy-tale creatures were as beautiful and deadly as Argis’s armor, and Gillian certainly fit that bill. Even Aela had difficulty believing the things she had done, and Aela had seen them with her own eyes.

She watched the guards…their heads turned toward the beautiful couple in their finery, but it wasn’t quite enough to guarantee her stealthy passage. They couldn't see her, but if someone noticed the door opening or heard the ancient bronze creak... Aela stayed ready as Igmund rose to greet the dragonborn, and motioned toward the dance floor. She crouched; the guards stiffened. The Jarl turned and bounded back up to the throne, discarding his cloak and pulling something out of the collar of his tunic. Aela saw what lay on his chest, and her hands tightened around her pilfered key to Raerek’s quarters.

That asshole was wearing an Amulet of Mara- the gold circles and blue moonstones were unmistakable. She’d known the Jarl was a punk, but had no idea he harbored so much arrogance. Such a public proposal. Well, that would definitely do it, Aela mused, relieved, yet angry. Elisif would hear about this stunt, no doubt. Even the guards were caught up in the melodrama, and Aela knew her time had come. She slipped back to the royal quarters, unlocked the door, and slipped inside. If Raerek had left the correspondence where she thought, this job would take three minutes, max. No problem. Aela flinched a little as she imagined Gillian’s reaction to Igmund’s proposal, but she was Dovahkiin, and would rise to the occasion. Always stronger than she imagined.

 

* * *

 

 Gillian’s mind screeched back to the present, away from her thoughts of Argis and their warm bedroom. Harsh reality decidedly more unpleasant, she struggled to keep her eyes on Igmund’s face, away from his chest. This isn’t meant for me, she thought. I’m reading too much into this. It’s for a courtier or noble... not me… _not_ _me_. She dared not look back at Argis, but she could imagine his thoughts, and feel his fists clenching as he struggled, helpless to aid her.

“Faleen, could you keep the Bulwark company while his Thane is occupied?” Igmund ordered, taking Gillian's hand in his and leading her down the steps and to the left, into the brightly-lit ballroom.

Gillian managed a glance over her shoulder at Argis, and her eyes widened as she saw a smile on his handsome face. He placed his left hand over his heart, wiggling his fingers, and nodded. Gillian turned back around and took a deep breath. She could do this, she thought, smiling brightly at the other curious couples.

She listened to the music playing and tilted her head as her partner wrapped his arm around her waist to begin the dance. “That’s lovely – the music, I mean,” she said, watching the quartet play in a corner across the room.

Igmund kept his eyes focused on Gillian. “It certainly is,” he said, noticing her blush and puffing his chest out as they danced. He frowned as Gillian’s eyes refused to take the bait, and moved his hand from her waist to the small of her back. He stiffened as his hands caught on the rough skin of her scars, and pulled back, his mouth curving down for a moment into an expression of disgust, as though he'd smelled something unpleasant.

Gillian smiled, a cold smile that failed to reach her eyes. She’d dealt with people like him before – those who hadn't worked for their power, who didn’t understand sacrifice and stood, blissfully unaware, on the foundations of their ancestors. Her scars might be repulsive to _him_ , but they represented her strength, and she was grateful for the reminder.

“I...I hope you don’t think me too bold, but do you have a suitor back in Whiterun?” Igmund finally asked, his cheeks flushing.

“I don’t…no, no one in Whiterun,” Gillian smiled, her color rising.

Igmund took her answer and the blush as a good sign, and plowed forward. “Anyone in Markarth?”

Gillian kept her voice light and airy, and told the absolute truth. “No suitors here either, my Jarl.”

Just then the music stopped, and Igmund placed a hand on the Amulet. In the momentary lull, Gillian looked around the room, aware that they were the undisputed focus of the party. Please Aela, she thought to herself, visualizing her shield-sister creeping safely in and out of the royal quarters, _please_ let this be enough.

“My Jarl,” she said, fanning her face with her hand, “could we get a little air? Maybe on that balcony?” Gillian pointed to a door opening onto the city, and Igmund walked with her, Faleen and Argis following at a respectful distance, stationing themselves behind the pink-cheeked couple.

Argis watched Gillian, hoping his encouragement and reminder had calmed her anxious mind. Seeing her dancing with the Jarl had nudged his own insecurities, as he faced the reality that Igmund wanted to marry Gillian. How could _he_ , a nobody, ever hope to compete?

 

_They arose at noon, the day after their return from Whiterun, their bodies sore from the previous day’s hard ride, yet languid and sated from hours of lovemaking, the pair having finally dropped off to sleep at sunrise. Gillian drew them another bath, and they both squeezed into the tub, letting the hot water soothe their aching muscles._

_Argis rubbed Gillian’s shoulders and arms as she leaned back against his chest, her hands resting on his thighs. He leaned down to kiss her neck._

_“Hmmm….” Gillian said, “I could get used to this. I **want** to get used to this, Argis.” She looked up at him out of the corner of her eye. “Could you imagine?”_

_“I’ve done little else for the past month,” he said, his smile fading. “You know I love you, and I want us to be together. Always.”_

_“Always? You sure about that? I’m not the easiest person to deal with, you know,” Gillian smiled and snuggled against him. “Besides my temper and need for alone-time, there’s also the random assassins that could show up from time to time.”_

_“Let ‘em,” Argis growled. “And it’s **me** who’s the short end of the stick here, remember? Who would expect the dragonborn to end up with a housecarl? An old, half-blind, nobody-“_

_She swiveled in the bath and wrapped her arms around him. “Not going to say it again, you’re a catch. Anyone who let you go in the past wasn’t right for you, so put all that out of your mind.” She paused a minute, and Argis waited for her to find the words for…whatever it was she wanted to say. He kissed her hair and held her, one hand on her breasts, and the other kneading the soft flesh of her arm. “I’m afraid I’m going to be boring, Argis. Once the excitement of all this wears off, I’m pretty much a ‘read books and go on hikes’ type of woman. I’m honestly sick of adventuring, so I’m…you’re going to be bored by me, and…what if you regret-“_

_"Say one more word and I’ll spank you, and then haul you off to Riften over my back,” Argis rumbled, pulling his legs underneath her and turning her around to straddle his thighs, his hands gripping her shoulders. “You’re the one for me, whether we lead a quiet life or not. As long as you’re in it, it’s the **only** life I want.”_

_“Well,” she said, leaning down to kiss his neck as his hands drifted down her back to grip her rear, his fingers massaging the faint marks he’d made last night. She moaned into his chest, and he squeezed tighter. “As you found out last night, that's something I rather enjoy,” she said, wiggling her reddened cheeks against his hands, “so it’s more a reward than a threat, and – “_

_Argis’s heart skipped as she broke off with a gasp and sat up straight, but he relaxed a few seconds later when she smiled into his eyes. “Mara…” she said, and raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to catch on. He tried to follow her train of thought, and after a minute, he smiled too._

 

Argis’s face warmed as he remembered, and he stood at ease, watching his lover in action.

She waited until Igmund placed his hand on the Amulet once more and opened his mouth to speak, and she swallowed hard. “Is that an Amulet of Mara? I’ve never seen one up close,” she said, her heart pounding. How could she do this without embarrassing him? She wasn’t worried about his feelings – he didn’t love her, or really know her at all. But he _was_ the Jarl.

“It is. I was wondering when you’d notice…I kept it hidden until you walked over,” he said, leaving no doubt of his intentions.

“You know, my Jarl,” she began, her hand moving to fiddle with the fine gold chain of her neckline. “That’s one of the things I found strangest about Skyrim: the custom of the Amulet of Mara and the marriage proposal that follows. How can you _possibly_ know someone well enough to ask for marriage as soon as you find out that person’s interested? What if you don’t like…what you get to know?”

“Well,” the Jarl began, clearing his throat and fidgeting with the amulet, “Skyrim isn’t the easiest of places to live. Dangerous. It’s always been a custom to build a marriage from within, working out any problems as husband and wife. It works for most. And I _had_ hoped to announce our engagement tonight,” he continued in low tones, his smile bright and confident.

Gillian stepped back a step and raised her chin, noticing Argis watching near Faleen, his expression inscrutable other than the sparkle in his eyes. The arrogance of the Jarl, his certainty of her consent, lessened any guilt she’d been feeling. “My Jarl,” she began, in even lower tones, “I hope the lady to whom you are to become engaged is worthy of you, and worthy of marriage itself.”

It was Igmund’s turn to step back. “But Gil-“

She looked firmly into his eyes, her cheeks red as her hair. “I was overjoyed on the occasion of my _own_ marriage not two days ago, so I know what a worthy state it is.” She held up her left hand to show the gold, ten-sided band she wore on her heart finger. “The Bond of Matrimony should be a _little_ more distinctive, don’t you think?” She asked as she held up her right hand. “It looks just like this stamina ring I’ve had for years, and blended right into the embroidery on my gloves. Otherwise, _surely_ it would have been a topic of conversation.”

To his credit, Igmund recovered quickly, smiling his own, overly-bright smile and exhaling noisily. “Who’s the lucky man? Is he here? When you said you weren’t bringing-“

“I beg your indulgence, my Jarl, but it _is_ a secret, at least for another few days. I’m not at liberty to explain yet, but I will.” After his uncle is exposed and his city in uproar, I’ll owe him that much, she thought, although he may not want to hear it.

Igmund narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, and Gillian could see the wheels turning in his mind, trying to figure out the puzzle. “The dragonborn may have her secrets. But yes, that is a conversation I would like to have very soon.” He looked to Faleen, who motioned toward a pretty courtier waiting on the dance floor. Igmund bowed to Gillian, and went back inside.

Gillian looked over at Argis, who came to stand half an arm’s length from her next to the railing. “That was close,” she said, breathing deeply of the night air and bracing herself on the stone. “I think I managed to be as diplomatic as possible.”

“Well, you can’t argue with a married woman,” Argis grinned, looking down at the ring on his own hand. “Especially _my_ married woman.”

 


	12. The Truth Hurts...and Heals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to one day before the Jarl's big party, and Argis feels like he must confess a perceived weakness to Gillian before they can move forward. And upward, literally. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next chapter are pretty much pure, unadulterated fluff and fun. The other story I'm writing is lore-heavy, and I'm having to do research for it. So...this one is taking a much lighter tone for a bit. Sort of. I suppose it depends on how you define 'light.' ;)

One Day Before The Jarl's Party...

 

“I’ll be amazed if this works,” Argis said, lacing up his leggings and smiling as he watched Gillian shimmy, drying her back with her towel. “The priestesses are feisty, you know; I wouldn’t be surprised if they throw us off the cliff.”

"Only one way to find out, right?” She winked and reached toward the hook on the wall for her dark red tunic. “And what do we have to lose? Well, other than our lives. Still worth the risk, I think.”

“ _Married_ …this afternoon. I can’t…I…” He helped Gilly pull the tunic down her slightly damp back and tried to wrap his head around their plan. As a young man, he’d taken his eventual wedding day for granted. But as the years passed, ‘now and forever’ seemed an unscalable mountain – and here he was, so close to the summit. What if he fell? What if he took Gillian down with him?

“Gillian, this is…” He slung his towel over his shoulders and clenched the ends with his fists, his forehead furrowed and lips clenched in a grimace.

She narrowed her eyes at him while toweling her hair dry. “You just threatened to carry me to Riften _on your back_ , Argis…what’s wrong?”

“Oh, I expected to screw this up _long_ before we made it to Riften,” he admitted, laughing softly to himself. At himself.

She sighed, and sat on a bench near the firepit. “Tell me what happened, love. I’ve wanted to ask a hundred times who broke your heart, because someone did a number on you. Will you tell me?”

“It wasn’t…” He was still for a minute, and then nodded and walked over to sit next to her. “Her name was Anya. We met at the Bard’s College. She was sweet and beautiful, sixteen and full of romantic notions.” Argis held her hand in his and kissed it. “I wish I’d known you at sixteen. I’ll bet you were the same way, romantic…an idealist.”

“I think everyone is at that age. I saw the world how I wanted to see it, and I thought…if I gave beauty and love, I’d attract them both in return. But that’s not what happened,” she said, kissing his bare shoulder. “The rose-colored glasses tend to crack a little when life turns cruel.” Gillian squeezed his hand, encouraging him to continue. “What happened when you left, when you joined the Legion?”

“Well, Anya got caught up in the romance of the war. She thought my decision was passionate and _noble_ , and swore to wait for me. And then, reality set in. I left Solitude at twenty-one, and when I came back at twenty-four, she felt…well, she’d changed her mind about a lot of things. She was a Bard by that time, and wanted us to wed and get on with our lives. She asked me to leave the Legion…to desert. Said they’d taken enough from me.”

Gillian whistled. “She couldn’t have had _any_ idea what they’d do to you…”

“No. I told her I’d take her to Riften on my next leave, and she seemed happy, but…I never _got_ another leave, never saw her again. She married a Bard…maybe two years later. Never told me. When I came home, broken and blind, no career, no future…that’s when I found out, so you can imagine…”

He took a deep breath and swallowed hard, watching Gillian’s eyes narrow as he continued. “I felt…betrayed, and some of the guys in the unit thought it was funny that I could defend the Legion from its enemies, but couldn’t defend my own home. I was weak…worthless.”

“But you know that’s not true. None of it,” she said, wrapping her arms and legs around him and kissing his chest. “Anya’s a woman, not a damned castle or a possession. Assholes.”

He kissed the top of her head and held her close. “I should have told them to go fuck themselves instead of taking it to heart. But I was proud…and angry.”

“So…you’re worried that I’ll marry you and, ah...you’ll change from the person I love now, or _I’ll_ change, and I’ll leave like Anya did? Is that it?”

“No,” he said, staring at her fiery hair and letting his hands drift under her tunic, around her waist. “It was _my fault_ , Gilly. It wasn’t about Anya leaving me. I thought it was, for years, but…I made promises to her and broke them. I joined the Legion for fortune and glory, when I had no idea what I was getting into. I blamed her when she didn’t want to live the life _I_ chose for _her_. I put her in such an… _impossible_ situation.”

Gillian pulled his chin around so he’d look at her. “Argis, war makes everything difficult, and we _all_ made mistakes. I made big ones, so did you. So did Anya. But…you owned up to them. Stopped blaming. Only a strong person can do that. Can admit his failures and learn from them. Keep moving, keep from becoming bitter and cruel. That’s the kind of man I want to marry. So, from now on, we make all our stupid mistakes together, agreed?”

“But…” he sighed, and then laughed at Gillian’s expression. “All right...fine. Agreed. Can’t argue with your ‘bossy’ face. You know, that’s probably how you beat Alduin, in the end.” He took a deep breath, and smiled as she leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“For what?” Gillian kissed his cheek.

“For listening. I don’t like talking about my past. But I had to get it out of my head. To move on.”

“I’m glad you did. You should be thinking of nothing else but us, and our future together. Because it’s going to be great,” she said, closing her eyes and sighing as his fingers moved from her waist down to her inner thigh. “Although, if we want to marry today, you should probably stop doing that. Otherwise, we’ll never get dressed.”

“Can’t help it.” He reluctantly moved his fingers to rest under her jaw and kissed her lips. “I’m going to finish dressing and I’ll meet you in the living room,” he said, rising and jogging over to his old bedroom for a clean tunic.

“Babe?”

“Yeah?” He stopped behind the dining table, leaning on a chair.

“She loved you. Anya did. It was just a shitty situation, you know. You’ve been loved, and _I’m_ going to love you for the rest of my life. Believe it.”

“I do,” he said, and smiled.

 

* * *

 

  
Dressed, with wet hair and cheeks rosy from their steamy bath, Gillian and Argis made their way through the city, nodding and smiling at passersby, pretending it was an ordinary day. He followed her as a housecarl would do, as they climbed the stone stairs up to the Temple of Dibella.

Gillian opened the doors, and they walked inside. The entryway smelled of perfume and mountain flowers. After a minute or two, a tall, bronze-robed priestess rounded a corner and smiled at them. “I am Senna, of Dibella. How may I serve you?” she asked, in a low, musical voice.

“Well...” Gillian’s cheeks blushed as she tried to figure out how to phrase the question, “w-we were wondering if…”

The priestess smiled and looked her up and down, and around her at Argis standing close by, his hand resting on the small of her back. “You would honor Dibella? Well, by the looks of you, and what I can sense…you already are. Love, sensuality…with trust and abandon…to be honest, it comes off you both in waves. Quite intoxicating,” she said, taking a deep breath.

Gillian glanced at Argis, who had blushed a bit and was trying not to laugh. She turned back to the priestess. “Not exactly… _oh_ , no we definitely want to honor Dibella, and we _do_ …it’s just that…”

Argis broke in. “We’re actually looking for something a little…different. In a word, Mara.”

The priestess rocked back a little, and looked at them from under her lashes. “This is…certainly the wrong city for that, my friends.”

Gillian nodded, gesturing toward Argis with an open palm. “We know. But circumstances…”

The priestess was shaking her head again, her placating smile starting to slip. But just as Gillian was about to raise her voice, Senna’s back stiffened, and she turned her head. “My lady?”

A teenage girl dressed in glowing, diaphanous robes walked toward them, and smiled. “You honor Dibella, and we welcome you… _Companions_.”

Argis looked from Gillian to the young woman. Her voice was unearthly, echoing…like there were two people sharing her body. “ _I’m_ not…”

“No, but you are kind, and strong, and have been helping women in this city for years. You are welcome, even if you do not bear the name Companion.”

Senna looked from Argis to Gillian, her eyes wide. “Sybil, these are…this is the dragonborn? She’s part of the…”

The Sybil of Dibella smiled. “Yes, she is. And her man… _so_ much desire, so much _heart_. And love…flesh _and_ spirit. Yes, I know what it is you seek. It is within my power to grant your desire, this once. Follow me.” She turned to walk toward the brazen doors at the end of the hallway.

Senna bowed toward Gillian and Argis and grasped their hands. “I’m sorry, I had no idea. The Sybil’s been heartbroken by the cries of the women in this city, and the service you’re doing for her and for them all…we can never repay.” She looked at Gillian, her eyes sparkling. “Ah…you come from Jorrvaskr, yes? With the handsome twins?”

Gillian huffed and grinned. “Farkas and Vilkas were here?”

Senna smiled. “Oh, yes, they were. Maybe two months ago, for a short visit. We haven’t been the same since they left. We revere beauty and sensuality, and those two are... _memorable_. Please give them my love when you return. Especially the big, sweet one.”

Gillian grinned and blushed. “I will. Thank you.”

The Sybil smiled over her shoulder as Gillian and Argis turned to follow her. They walked into the temple’s inner sanctum and there, sitting near an altar dedicated to Dibella was a hooded, Dunmer woman. “Dinya, here are two you will wish to meet,” she said in that strange, disembodied voice. “They honor Dibella and Mara in our current endeavor.”

She rose and pulled back her hood. “These are of the Companions? Well met, indeed. We owe our gratitude and our love.”

Gillian looked at the Sybil and at Argis, taking his hand. “My lady, I'm Gillian, of the Companions, and this,” she motioned to Argis with their joined hands, “is Argis, my love. We wish to marry, and took a chance that Mara and Dibella would be together as they wait to hear the outcome of, _well_ , of what’s going on in the city. We would like…”

Dinya’s smile grew wider. “Children, it is good that I am here, rather than my husband. A stickler for rules, he is. But I…listen to Dibella as _well_ as Mara, and I will grant your request.” She looked between Argis and Gillian. “Are you ready?”

Gillian smiled up at Argis, tears welling in her eyes. “I am. Now and forever.”

 

 


	13. Fire and...More Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Jarl's party, Gillian and Argis escape to the peace and quiet of their home. And relieve some tension. They are newlyweds, after all. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter explores off-label uses for candles and those leather strips that, for some reason, we find everywhere in Skyrim. If you'd rather not read about that sort of thing, feel free to skip this chapter. It doesn't advance the non-sexy plot one bit.

“I’m curious. Did you just wake up one day and decide spankings weren’t for punishment anymore? I mean, how did you know that’s what you wanted?” Argis placed a kiss on Gillian’s palm as she lay with her head near the footboard, their party finery and armor strewn in a trail from the front door to the bedroom floor. She watched as he held her wrists, tying them together with a long leather strip, and knotting the other end to a buckle on a large chest at the foot of the bed. He kissed her mouth as he tested the bonds. “You can get out, right? If you need to?”

“Yeah, thanks.” She grinned up at him. “How did _you_ know that’s what I wanted? You took a bit of a gamble. Lots of people would’ve run screaming from the bedroom.” Gilly reveled in freedom she hadn’t felt in years, and still couldn’t believe her luck. Two months ago, if anyone had told her she’d be married to her housecarl, blissfully happy and tied naked to a bed in Markarth…well, she’d have had a good laugh.

He walked around the bed, letting his hands drift over her curves, smiling as she lifted her body like a cat to meet his touch. “There were lots of clues, babe. You’re not all that subtle,” he said, leaning over to kiss her back. He slipped his hands under her ribcage and let his fingers play along her soft breasts and quickly-hardening nipples. That first night in Riverwood had required all his control. He’d been desperate to claim her, to strip her naked and spend the night buried to the hilt inside her. Even with considerable restraint, he’d not been gentle at times, but her desire seemed to increase as his touch grew…more _intense_. He couldn’t help but be intrigued.

“The other night, you were lying here, like this, and I held your arms over your head while I played with you, and…you _liked_ it,” he smirked. “You made all those sexy noises, and I noticed your back arched and _this_ ,” he gripped the soft flesh above her upper thigh, “lifted up high. Thought that might have been a clue.” He settled behind her and used both hands to push her thighs apart and up, marveling as she stayed perfectly still, waiting for his next move. He pressed his lips between her legs, kissing her soft skin, his tongue teasing her. She gasped; he smirked again. “Not to mention the heat in the bath. And…when I pinned you against the wall later that evening? Didn’t try to wiggle away, and you blushed from your cheeks to your belly. It was a calculated risk.”

“Yeah, I hoped you’d noticed that,” she said, breathing heavily, then making a sound of protest when he sat up. “Hmmm…the way you held me, I thought you might be ok with it. Not freaked out.” She looked over her shoulder as Argis tied her right ankle to the headboard. “To answer your question, I’ve known since I was a kid.”

Argis huffed and raised his eyebrows, looking up from her left ankle, and gently tickling her foot. “ _Seriously_? _How_? Did you…”

“I didn’t _know_ , know. It’s not like I had _experience_ – just fantasy.” She was quiet for a moment, remembering, then sighed as Argis straddled her upper thighs, massaging her back as he listened. She wriggled her cheeks against his erection.

“Hmmm…witch,” he said, playfully smacking her rear. “How old were you?” He prompted.

“Maybe ten? Yeah, ten. We were at a wedding, in midsummer, outside at night. It was sweltering. I’d grown a lot and my only summer dress was too short, and showed the tops of my legs when I sat down. We all held candles…it was a candlelight ceremony, and gorgeous. I got distracted and tilted my candle, and wax poured over my hand, onto my thighs. I was scared for a moment, thought I’d burned myself, but…it felt _amazing_.”

“But, wouldn’t being dragonborn…”

“Have something to do with it, maybe. And that may have started it. I mean, I'm right at the point where I’m developing, you know, whatever makes women want men… _or_ other women, so anything’s possible. But other things…” Argis leaned over, kissing her neck as she spoke. She blushed, remembering how he’d tossed her over his lap and spanked her until she was begging, rosy-pink under his strong hands and the leather strip he’d used for a bit. “I mean, what you did night before last had _nothing_ to do with heat or fire… Anyway, all I know is when I started to think about… _this_ , about sex, I imagined pain as much as pleasure. And now that I do know…I like both.”

“What about this…” he plucked at the leather around her wrist.

“That…didn’t come until later,” she said, raising her shoulders as he continued his quest to turn her bones and muscles to water. “ _Gods_ , your hands are incredible. Um…years ago in Riften, on one of my first missions for the Companions, I met this man. He was sexy and a little dangerous. I let him buy me a few too many drinks, and we ended up in bed. He…he held me down, _while_ …and I liked it. I imagined being completely under his control, and the more I thought about it…”

“Did you let him? Did you see him again?” Argis trailed kisses down her arm, one hand wrapping around to her breast and the other much lower, both hands stroking her as she lay beneath his weight.

“No, I didn’t trust him. Didn’t _know_ him. He was sweet, really, just rough around the edges, but I ran into him later, and found out he was in the Thieves Guild, so I was probably right not to trust him completely. But it was a good night for me. Argis...” she sighed, pushing against his hands. “ _Please_ …”

“What? Need something, do you?” he drawled and sat up, his fingers moving around her hips to her rear, tracing the cleft between her buttocks down to the apex of her thighs, and back. He gently stroked, back and forth, feeling the wetness of her arousal as she pressed against his fingers, his body holding her captive.

“I do…can we talk more later? I need…” her pleas drifted off as he stood up and reached for a fat, beeswax candle from the dresser, and walked back to the chest at the foot of the bed. Clenching his teeth, he tilted the candle over his hand.

Gillian opened her eyes wide. “No, lift it up so the wax won’t be so hot when it falls. I like it, but I don’t think you would.”

“No, but I want to know what you’re feeling, before I do it. To _you_ , I mean.” He watched her face as the wax dripped on his palm, and hissed a few moments later as the heat seared into his skin. “Are you _sure_?”

Her smile played slowly across her face. “Argis…people like different things. You’re _not_ going to hurt me. Remember the water in the bath?”

He kissed her once more before walking back and kneeling on the bed between her legs, noticing her shiver as he swept her hair over her shoulder. He tilted the candle. The hot wax fell like raindrops.

She sighed as the heat sank into her skin. “Argis, that’s _so_ …” Her head was spinning. “You…you don’t have to avoid the scars. The heat helps.”

He bent down and carefully kissed her scars before letting wax dribble over the claw marks. She moaned, sweet and soft, and arched her back up to meet the wax as it flickered like fire across her hips. His eyes darkened at her reaction, her obvious desire.

She pulled against her bonds as the wax poured and drizzled down her cheeks, reaching her inner thighs before it cooled and hardened. She pushed her hips against the linen, needing release, needing _him_.

Argis brushed the hardened wax away and kissed the top of her thigh once more before untying the straps around her ankles and helping her roll over, her wrists still tied above her head. If he’d not spent the last two days in her arms, his resolve would have failed long ago. She was so beautiful, his wife. _His wife._

With one hand, he positioned the candle over her belly before locking his eyes on hers. She watched him move his other hand up her thigh and felt his slow, sweet strokes between her legs. He tilted the candle, and watched her face flush as the wax fell in smooth ribbons, winding slowly up her ribcage to her breasts. Argis didn’t completely understand how the heat made her feel, but damned if he didn’t want to be the one who held the flame. 

As the wax spiraled around her rosy areolas, he slipped one finger inside her, continuing to stroke her with his hand. Her breathing became shallow as he lifted the candle higher and splashed wax over one nipple, then the other. He slipped another finger inside, his slow, firm caresses bringing her close to release, and he pulled back just before she screamed his name, just like he promised her she would.

Argis’s heart pounded as he watched his wife writhing on the bed under his attention, his _control_. He swallowed hard and set the candle down on the nightstand, then slid his hands up her thighs until they met between her legs, both thumbs making lazy circles before sliding up her belly to her breasts, the wax still warm on her skin. He bent his head to kiss her belly and hips, and slowly moved down, his tongue swirling where his thumbs had been.

Gillian bent her knees and spread her legs wider. “Please, love,” she said, wiggling her fingers and smiling. “I want to play, too.”

Argis kissed his way back up her body to her mouth, one hand loosening the leather ties and setting her free. He massaged her shoulders as she moved her hands to rest on his chest, her fingers playing with his hair and nipples, running over his belly, down to his hips.

She slid one hand over his erection and looked up at him with pleading eyes. 

He laughed and nuzzled her neck, rubbing softly at her entrance, then sliding slowly inside. Both arms wrapped around Gillian, one hand cradling her head, he gently touched his lips to hers, and they smiled as their kiss deepened.

She slid one hand around his back, holding him close as her other hand slipped down between them, stroking herself as he moved within her. It wasn’t long before Argis felt her tighten around him, gripping him like a soft vise. She called out, and pressed her face into his neck, crying out over and over as he felt the pulses of her release drive him swiftly toward his own. Gillian wrapped both legs and arms around his back as he came. He drew her closer, crushing her against his chest.

As their breathing slowed, Argis rolled over on his back, carrying Gilly with him, laughing as she kissed his chest, his arms spread out over the bed.

“ _Gods_ , I love you,” she said, and fell into a light sleep.

Argis envied her ability to nap anywhere, anytime. He watched her sleep for a quarter of an hour before his arm started feeling numb, then sat up and gently rolled her onto her side. She opened her eyes and stretched, smiling at him.

“You have wax on your chest.”

“I wonder how _that_ got there,” he grinned, gingerly pulling the soft wax from his chest, wincing when it snagged his hair.

Gillian peeled the remaining ribbons of wax off her belly and breasts, rolled them into a ball and set it on the nightstand. She took a long drink of wine and got under the covers. “That was fun. It can’t be your favorite thing to do, but…”

“Honestly, anything that turns you on, makes you feel _good_ , I’m more than willing to do. I just have to know it’s not going to…damage you first,” he admitted, climbing into bed with her. “I definitely want to do this again.” He kissed her nose. “Do you _always_ need…”

“Nope. Sometimes soft and gentle is everything. Like our first time, you threw me on the bed, and I thought things were going to go that way, but then you saw my scars and wiped away my tears, and all I wanted was slow and soft and just…sweet. Perfect.”

He had one last question to ask. He didn’t want to, but… _needed_ to know. “Did the twins know about…what you like?” The fact that Gilly’d had some amazing, mysterious lover in Riften didn’t faze him at all, but the twins…they were _right_ _there_ under her nose, and he didn’t want to admit it, but he still felt a little insecure. Well..he reminded himself, she married _him_ , not one of them. She was naked, in bed with him, not them. So it was _his_ problem to get over, and he would.

She looked up at him, understanding his fear, and hoped that time would help…and truth. “They knew. And it was…well, I trusted them both with my life, so it was easy to let them in.”

“Well, they both seemed like a good match, why…?”

She rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling. “Vilkas and Farkas and I…we were all young and busy with Alduin and the Civil War, and what we had was exciting. We fed off all that power. We _needed_ each other. But after…it just sort of fizzled out. We were friends first…just with, um, perks. So we went back to being friends. For some reason, it was no problem.”

After a moment, she rolled back on her side to look at Argis, resting her hand on his chest. “The twins never understood, not really. They thought what I wanted was _risk_ , and tried to seduce me in public, near dragon eyries, giant camps and the like. Now, I’ve fought giants and dragons and would again if I had to, but being naked near them is in _no_ way sexy. You can probably tell I’m anxious enough already.” She shook her head a little, taking Argis’s hand in hers. “Willingly placing myself under control of a man I trust, a man who loves me…that isn’t _about_ danger. I feel safe, sheltered…free. Like I’m in a warm, quiet, calm place, and there’s only you. It’s the most erotic thing in the world, to me, and I think you see that.”

Argis nodded. He did understand. As a man growing up and fighting in Skyrim, he admired women who could hold their own and take care of themselves. In such a dangerous place, depending on another person for protection just wasn’t feasible, and he was thankful Gillian was strong, smart, and powerful. But…as her husband, he wanted to protect her, to unburden her, and calm her fears. He considered himself a modern man, but knowing she felt secure and unfettered and…sexy…in his arms filled him with a fierce, almost primal sense of pride.

Gillian watched him consider her words, and when he smiled, the last weight of insecurity fell away. She’d revealed an intimate part of a reality she rarely got to experience, and Argis loved and understood it. _And_ _her_. She leaned over to kiss him before rolling out of bed. “It was totally worth it, but we missed dinner again, and I’m famished. Come on, let’s eat,” she said, and pulled her tunic on while stumbling out to the living room.

Argis watched her walk out and folded his arms behind his head, gazing around at the room. At _their_ bedroom. Just a month and a half ago, he’d walked into this room for the first time when it had been cold, gray, and devoid of everything that was Gillian. He’d been dreading the thankless job of being a bodyguard for the dragonborn. Of all the _useless_ positions…and now, he was loved, and part of something much bigger than himself, and most of all-

“Babe! The cheese’s getting cold. And I’m terrible at opening wine; if you don’t want me to break another bottle, you should come,” his love called from the kitchen.

And most of all, he was very much _needed_ , he thought, laughing to himself as he grabbed his tunic and walked out of the bedroom.

 

 


	14. A Firm Foundation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vilkas and Farkas join in as plans are made and set in motion, not just for Gillian and Argis, but for the rest of Jorrvaskr's warriors as well.

“Yes, for the fiftieth time, _yes_ …they got married. In Markarth, not Riften. And without us. We’ll live.” Aela sighed, taking a chair in front of the roaring fire. “Gillian,” she called, “while you’re in there, could you bring out that bread Argis made, with the rosemary and garlic?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back. Bringing coffee too, who wants some?” Crockery clattered in the kitchen as Gillian yelled over the noise. “Never mind, I’ll just bring a tray.”

Vilkas came out of Argis’s old room just in time to help her carry the heavy tray, and they set it on the small table close to the fireplace. The brothers had arrived in Markarth the previous night, and although they were happy for Gillian and Argis, there was one small thing bothering Farkas.

After placing his mug and bread on the hearth, he sat down in the other chair, arms crossed over his chest. “But…the party! No one else we know gets married.” He looked around the table from Argis to Gillian and then, over to Vilkas. “You’d better find someone quick, brother. We’re due for a party.”

Vilkas walked over and clapped his brother on the shoulder, filling his own mug from the carafe on the stone table. “I have a feeling either you or Aela will have to step up for that, but for now, let’s move on to more urgent matters. Tullius will be here with the cavalry tomorrow afternoon. They’ll wait out of sight and attack at nightfall.”

“Did you have any trouble convincing them?” Gillian asked.

“No,” Vilkas shook his head and sat down on the hearth. “Once I mentioned Aela’d broken into Cidhna Mine and what she’d seen…and what she’d overheard Raerek planning, they jumped in headfirst. A small risk, when considering another potential Markarth Incident.” He paused and lifted his chin in a chuckle. “Elisif asked about _you_ , Gill. And what you’d been up to lately. I was halfway through a joke about you planning to marry Jarl Igmund and take over the city before I realized she thought I was serious. Her face was about as white as…as yours is now. What’s _wrong_?” he asked, watching her squirm in her seat.

“Nothing, just nervous about all… _this_ , I guess. I’m assuming you came clean? Honestly, Vil, your jokes…”

“Yeah. I told her you were involved with your housecarl. She and Tullius visibly unclenched when I mentioned you, Argis. Must be nice to know the queen trusts you with the fate of the Empire,” he laughed and turned to Gillian. “Falk looked relieved as well.”

Gillian smiled a little too brightly at Vilkas’s quip, and cut her eyes toward Aela, who laughed and shook her head as she sipped her coffee.

Vilkas narrowed his eyes, noticing Argis’s rigid posture. Something was definitely up, he thought, but continued his rundown of the Empire’s plan. “Anyway…they’re going to send most of their troops around the back of the mine, where it empties into the Reach. And a contingent into the Keep to maintain order when Oblivion breaks loose. As it will. We-“

“But…if they go around back and attack without warning, what'll happen to the people inside?” Gillian rested her elbows on the table, leaning into Argis as he rubbed her back. “That’s the whole reason we got into this mess. We can’t let them get caught in a massacre.”

“Sounds like we’re on our own,” Aela said, leaning back into her chair. “We can take care of it. I’ve been sneaking into the mine for a while. The prisoners know me, they know what’s going on.” She bit her lip as she thought. “What we need to do is get all the prisoners up to the city entrance, away from the fighting. How-“

“I think I can do that,” Gillian mused. “I can hide at the exit, and when the Legion comes into view, I can conjure…oh, I don’t know. A storm atronach? No, too big and…stormy. Maybe a dremora lord? No…too many people would get hurt. I’m not sure I could keep it from killing indiscriminately. I could…yes,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Durnehviir would be perfect for this.”

Everyone laughed and nodded, except Argis, who looked down at Gillian with raised brows. “Who? I’m assuming this is a dragon, but…how would a dragon be less violent than a dremora? I admit never having seen a dremora, but I’ve seen dragons and they’re fairly…disruptive.”

“This dragon is more the ‘fly around aimlessly’ sort. She has to call him from…” Farkas squinted at Gillian. “I’ve never really understood where he comes from.”

“Not somewhere you _ever_ want to see,” she said, shuddering and taking Argis’s hand. “Anyway, we can help guide the prisoners once the guards are distracted. They’ll be safe, especially if we can warn them beforehand.” She looked around the room. “D’you think it’ll work?”

Farkas grunted. “They might be a little freaked out by a dragon appearing out of nowhere, even a senile, sun-dazzled one, but…yeah, if we can get past that, it’ll work. You two,” he pointed with narrowed eyes at Gillian and Argis, “should sneak in with Aela. Vilkas and I can fight our way in when we hear the disturbance and take care of any guards outside the city entrance who might want to…interfere.”

Vilkas nodded, stretching his back in the warmth of the fire. “As long as we get everyone to the front of the mine, the Legion can take it from there. Should work. Be fine.” He turned his attention to Aela. “So, the stuff you got from Raerek’s quarters…”

Aela stood up. “We have enough. Letters from Thongvar and Thonor Silver-Blood. And Madanach. Maven Black-Briar wrote regarding labor from Riften, although she had no idea what she was doing, other than selling human beings. Which, let’s be honest, is probably part of an ordinary Morndas for her. But…evidence is evidence. It’ll stand. Raerek and the Silver-Bloods are going down, and the jarl will be…well, even though we’re going to save his city and his torc, he’s not going to be happy. This is a serious humiliation for him. Especially with Gillian…”

Vilkas looked between the two women. “Ok, what’s going on?”

Aela laughed. “That fool put on an Amulet of Mara for Gillian in front of the whole city. She and Argis were already married, though…so she got to let him down easy. Still…”

Vilkas's mouth dropped open. “Talos, really? After my damn joke, if they hear about this…gods. Don’t worry, I’ll make it right. I’ll meet with Tullius before the raid and let him know you two are married and no longer their concern. You know,” he said with a huff, “I wish you’d call your dragon buddies and put a stop to their meddling once and for all. I hate that they think they can control you. I know it’s your choice, but it’s insulting.”

“They know what’ll happen if they overstep, Vilkas.” Gillian sighed, relaxing as she smiled in thanks, and then looked at her friends. “Do you…should we warn the jarl? I want to, but would that ruin the plan? I can just see him screaming about the betrayal throughout the Keep and alerting the Silver-Bloods. That asshole Thonor’s always hanging out there, bothering the palace guards. Not to mention Raerek…you duped his letters to keep the element of surprise; it’d be a waste of all that work.”

Argis nodded, kissing her forehead. “I think you’re right, we should. But maybe we should tell Faleen first, and see what she thinks. She knows Igmund better than anyone, so she’ll know what to do.”

Farkas looked between them, his expression softening. “Alright, we have a plan. When do we put it into action?”

Vilkas hopped up from his seat on the hearth. “Gil, you and Aela should work on whatever spells and potions you’ll need. I’m assuming people will get hurt, so healing potions…make sure all the chameleon gear is ready too. Can I have the evidence?” He reached over as Aela handed him a string folio full of parchment. “Thanks. Argis and I will take this to Faleen.”

Aela broke in. “She has lunch every day with Calcelmo. What they have to talk about I have no idea, but it’s a good time to get her alone, without the Jarl.”

Vilkas nodded. “Then we only have a few minutes to get over to the keep,” he motioned to Argis, and then turned to his brother. “We need our weapons sharpened. Can you take them to the blacksmith? And my sword has some leather loose on the hilt. I’m not trying to turn you into an errand boy, _but_ …” he raised his eyebrows, smiling at Farkas.

“It’s fine,” the big man said, grinning and looking happier than Gillian had ever seen him. “I have plenty to keep me occupied while I’m waiting.”

 

* * *

 

Argis and Vilkas sat quietly while Faleen scanned the sheaf of parchment. The two men were still getting their bearings around each other, although mutual respect was beginning to overtake the lingering awkwardness. Vilkas scanned the Dwemer excavation and ruins, wondering about the spider Calcelmo’d been talking about as they interrupted his lunch, when Argis elbowed his ribs. He turned back to Faleen and jumped at the expression on her face.

Argis chuckled and leaned forward. “So, knowing Igmund as you do, what would you suggest?”

Faleen swallowed hard and sighed. “ _Damn_ it, why do we have to go through this again? We have to tell him. He’ll never trust anyone again if we let him go into this blind. He’ll never forgive _me_ for letting him look weak in front of the Empire.” She looked at Argis, lifting her chin. “He’s already thinking of banishing your thane, you know. Although, I think most of that’s just wounded pride. He couldn’t have known she was already married,” she said, tilting her head as Vilkas and Argis exchanged a look. “What?”

“About that,” he said, fidgeting with his leather gauntlet. “The person Gillian married…it’s me. We didn’t say anything because – well, explaining how we got married…the jarl knew we’d never been to Riften, and Mara’s presence in Markarth? That’d raise too many questions. Endanger the mission.”

Faleen was silent for a moment, and then burst out. “ _Good gods!_ What else? Any other bombshells you two want to drop while you’re here?” She looked between the two men, and when nothing was forthcoming, she nodded. “Fine, we can work it in. Don’t lead with it. Let Vilkas explain why _they’re_ here first, then tell him you were married and had to keep it secret because of the mission. It’ll cushion the blow. _Last_ …we explain about Raerek.” She paused and let her head fall into her hands. “I mean no disrespect to the Companions, Harbinger, but…this is going to be every bit as bad as you think it’s going to be. That being said, you all have my gratitude. You’ve saved a lot of lives, here. In time, Igmund will realize it too.”

Argis and Vilkas leaned back in their chairs, relieved they had Faleen’s support. She slapped her thighs and stood up.

“Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

“We’ll need to get some sleep tonight, babe. Tomorrow’s going to be rough,” Argis said as Gillian pulled his tunic off and wrapped her arms around his chest.

“Hmm…there’s plenty of time for sleep. I’m keyed up, though. Maybe we could stay up a little longer?” She smiled, feeling him lean into the kiss she planted between his shoulder blades. “That’s what I thought.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” Argis turned to untie the laces of her tunic, his smile disappearing into a frown of concern. “Are you ok with everything Igmund said this afternoon?”

Gillian sighed and shrugged, letting him pull the tunic over her head. “Well, I don’t like it, of course. I mean, I never _wanted_ to live in Markarth, but…being banished and stripped of my title? That seems incredibly unfair, especially after I helped save the city and his throne. But, I always knew he was proud as a spoilt child, so it shouldn’t be a surprise.” She looked up at him, looping her arms around his neck. “What about _you_? Are you sure you’re ok with moving to Whiterun?”

He nodded. “Of course. I don’t want to go back to Solitude – living that close to Elisif and Tullius isn’t appealing. Whiterun’s big enough so I can do just about anything. Most of all,” he said, kissing her nose, “it’s where you’re happiest. So it’s home to me. To both of us.”

She grinned and let herself fall toward the bed, arms still around his shoulders. He caught her just before she hit the mattress and held her, watching her face as the candlelight’s reflection flickered in her dark eyes, like a campfire on a black night.

“I love you, Argis. When this is done tomorrow, I can’t wait to go home with you. Oh!” She gasped and pulled him down beside her. “ _Home_! We don’t own a house in Whiterun. Can you stand to stay in Jorrvaskr while we look around for something?”

He thought for a minute. “Do you have an actual room? Or do you guys live in bunks, like barracks? Of course I’ll stay either way, but…there might be difficulties,” he said, running his hand up her hip to the curve of her waist.

"Oh, I have a room," she purred, “with locking doors. Aela’s right across the hall, but for some reason she’s rarely there at night, so we’ll have lots of privacy.” She moved her body on top of his and rested her head on his chest, sliding her hands under his back and sighing as she felt his arms wrap around her, pulling her close.

“Good. In that case, we can take as long as we like to find the perfect place.” He raised one hand to brush her hair back from her face. “After we get settled, I’d like to travel somewhere with you. No responsibilities, no fighting. Sound possible?”

“Of course,” Gillian said, kissing his hand. “I’d like to go where it’s warm and sunny. Maybe somewhere in Hammerfell? There are beaches…warm water, the sound of the ocean roaring at night. Could be fun.”

“I think we can count on fun,” he said, rolling her over to the other side of the bed and reaching for the candlestick on the nightstand. “After all this, I think we’re due some peace, too.”

“Peace and fun,” she mused. “Sounds like wishful thinking, knowing us, but it’s worth a shot.”

She raised up a bit and blew out the candle. Argis felt the smile spread across her face like warm caramel over a sweetroll. “We’ll be together,” he said, and kissed her neck, his fingers trailing from her shoulder to her hip. “It’s a pretty perfect start.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the end of this story, but not the end of the road for Gillian and Argis. This fic will be part of a series I'm tentatively titling "Warriors of Jorrvaskr." The rest of the Circle have stories worth telling, and the next one is called "Harbinger," starring everyone's favorite grump, Vilkas. I've only got the first couple of chapters done, so I'm not sure when it will be out, but I'm guessing mid-May. All the stories will be intertwined, so if you have questions about the way this one ends, what happens with the Empire, what happened to the people in the mine, they'll probably be answered eventually. :)
> 
> As always, thanks to everyone for reading! It's amazing how much more fun a hobby can be when I get to share it with readers from all over the world.


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